#my untimely death by nature's hand but it will be oh so beautiful it will be yuri too btw | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

i-did-not-mean-to · 3 years

Text

Ice-skating

After a random discussion with my friends, I had this fluffy idea in my mind.

So, here goes: Random ice-skating scene

Words : 2k

Fandom: Hobbit

Warning: Crack and dumb shit

Inspiration for the queen: @lathalea @middleearthpixie @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @linasofia @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @thewarriorandtheking

Taglist for all things Ori : @shrimpsthings

Taglist for random nephews nonsense: @laurfilijames

Erebor was a cold, hostile, desolate place in winter. Not as if that damped the cheer of the local dwarrows in any way, but I found it a rather unwelcome idea to venture out when the wind bit into my skin with needle-like fangs.

Unfortunately, the darling dwarf who had managed to thaw my heart took no offense whatsoever to the freezing temperatures and – as was customary – he came up with different ways of entertaining his intended which, in this deplorable case, was me.

Today, his brilliant idea was to take me ice-skating on the lake. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I did not know how to do that and that I was not exactly looking forward to breaking through the ice and meeting my untimely death in a bitter-cold, wet tomb.

“Come on! It will be fun!” He cheered, wrapping me in wool until I was almost stiff with the soft packaging wound around my tiny body. This alone should have told me that I was in grave danger.

Letting him drag me to the frozen lake, I discovered that I was to have the honour of spending the afternoon not only with my sweet love, but with a good many of the people I shared my day-to-day life with.

One of them was – of course – our king who ploughed over the thick ice as if he was late for an appointment. “Where is he going in such a haste?” I asked Ori, my voice muffled by the third layer of scarves and shawls covering my shoulders, neck, and the lower part of my face.

“Who? Thorin? Oh, he’s purposeful by nature.” Ori laughed, watching the king slide this way and that, a sombre expression on his face despite his obvious enjoyment of the activity.

All the while, he was kneeling in the snow-covered grass, tying blades to my sturdy winter boots, and allowing me to grab his shoulder violently as I tottered on the thin piece of metal. He barely even winced when my fingers dug into his flesh and a single, breathless gasp escaped me.

“You’ll get the hang of it in no time.” He promised, tapping my second foot. Was he insane? Did he expect me to stand on an edge narrower than my own finger and give him my other foot like a well-trained dog? I’d fall onto the lake face-first, slide all the way to the middle of the creek, and would most probably end up sliced into neat little cubes by the erratic trails our eminent king was making.

“Hold on to me, love, it will be okay.” Ori assured me, his voice soft and comforting as he gently lifted my other foot and attached his blasted blade to that boot as well.

“Bofur? A hand?” He called over and, within a minute or so, the other dwarrow arrived in a spray of crystals dancing in the still, cold air. “Can you hold her up while I…” Ori nodded at his own blades and Bofur seemed only too happy to comply.

“First time?” He grinned and proceeded to list all the people I was to stay well clear of…which turned out to be a long, extensive list – with everyone present on it except the queen.

Hot envy flared up in me. Our queen was the very epitome of royalty – at least to me, it seemed like she was – for she was kind, gracious, and very smart beyond being stunningly beautiful and graceful.

“Ah, what a pleasure to see you join us today.” She smiled as she slid past, seemingly floating on the ice. Oftentimes, it seemed to me as if the birds chirped a sweeter song and the wind carried a fresher scent when our queen was around.

There was not a soul alive not to love her and – even though I was a stranger to those lands – I would have laid down my life in her defence. Swirling around her husband as if the insecure footing only heightened her elegance and gracile movements, she drew a low chuckle from the king who grabbed her by the hips and threw her into the air where she seemed to stay suspended – the pristine crystal snowflake of Erebor – before coming down gracefully and drifting away backwards, a merry giggle pealing from her gorgeous, white throat.

Our queen was clad in velvet and fur, she looked nothing like the woollen woodland-creature I must have resembled, and I wished I could be half as poised and effortlessly charming as her.

“Trust me!” That voice that commanded all my dreams and my deepest desires purred into my ear and his lips brushed along my cold, red cheek for the ghost of an instant before his hand was in mine. My mind snapped to his presence, his warmth, his beauty until they erased the cold and the discomfort, the envy and the fear, from my conscious thoughts.

“No, I don’t want to. I’ll make a fool of myself.” I groaned, watching the royal princes chasing each other wildly across the ice.

“You won’t. I’m here.” Oh, these words and the conviction of his tone. He was there; he wouldn’t leave, he wouldn’t let go of my hand; I would live and die with his ink-stained fingers intertwined with my own.

I felt like a new-born fawn, my eyes glued – in utter horror – on the opaque ice on which my bladed feet tried to scramble for purchase. “I have you.” Ori promised, his hands sliding under my arms, grazing ever so slightly over my chest in the process.

“Put your weight on your right foot and let go.” He commanded and I did as he said, crying out when the blade cut through the top layer of the ice and made me move forward. “Put your left foot down and transfer your weight onto it.” He coaxed on, calmly, while the princes drew nearer out of sheer curiosity.

After a few of those strokes, I managed to look up, losing myself instantly in the cheery twinkle of Ori’s eyes. Almost immediately, my feet got tangled and I crashed into him rather brusquely.

“Slowly, amrâlimê, breathe.” His chuckle brushed in a gust of warm air across my face, and I sucked in the cold wind and his sweet smell eagerly. “You have planned this.” I accused him, jabbing my index into his well-padded chest.

“Well, love of loves, there’s only so much a dwarrow can do to get his beloved in his arms – in public – and rather than begging Thorin to have another feast to dance with you, I thought this might do.” He smiled wickedly.

“Oh, you’re having me floundering and flailing on literally thin ice so you can get your paws on me, yes?” I hissed, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.

“Nonsense, I am merely helping you.” He grinned innocently, patting my behind and tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear; the way he looked at me felt like a physical kiss. Sometimes, people look at you – from across the room, from across the table, or just a breath away – and you know you’re being kissed with their eyes, their mind, their heart.

“What are you thinking of, Ori the scribe?” I asked teasingly, trying to regain my balance by leaning against him. Maybe, I was just seeking to get another one of those mental kisses as well, I wasn’t sure.

“I am thinking of being married to you.” He replied with such straight-forward, simple sweetness that it knocked what little breath was left in me right out of my lungs. “I’m very much looking forward to it.” A smile blossomed on his face and, finally, the cold and the exertion seemed to have some kind of effect on him as well, as his cheeks filled with a soft, pinkish hue.

“So am I, darling.” I replied, wondering if anyone would actually notice if he kissed me for real.

“Stop ogling your own fiancée, you soppy fool! Come on, Mistress, we’ll show you.”

Before I could protest, my arms were gripped on either side by the princes, and I was whisked across the lake while I tried to keep my feet from crossing and toppling all of us over.

“Boys!” The queen’s voice drifted over warningly. “Kíli, Fíli, if you injure Ori’s betrothed, you’re on nurse-duty!” The king confirmed after a moment – he had no doubt caught his wife’s gaze and swallowed a chuckle or even a hoot – as sternly as he could.

“For the whole ward! You can come cut Bifur’s ingrown toenails!” Glóin, sitting on a log and watching his son skate slowly across the lake, called out, speaking confidently in his brother’s name.

My feet chose that exact moment – distracted as I was by fear and amusement – to refuse service and we went down in a flurry of limbs, wool, and deadly blades.

My name was called out and I poked my slightly dishevelled head out under Fíli’s thigh. “I’m fine. Did I…injure someone?” I tried to turn around, but the king was already pulling both of his nephews up and banging their heads together lightly.

He looked much dismayed with them indeed. “We’re sorry, Mistress, we are so sorry. It was entirely our fault. Are you injured? Should we…?” Kíli stretched out a hand, but I retreated, sliding backward on my behind to avoid further shenanigans.

“I’ve got her.” Ori declared, swooped me up easily and brought me back to the edge of the frozen lake.

“I will tell your mother about this.” I heard the king whisper ominously, followed by a mellowing “Thorin” from the queen and squeaky protests from his nephews as I was carried like a babe.

“Maybe that was not such a good idea after all, I’m sorry amrâlimê.” Ori muttered while he freed my boots from the lethal weapons strapped to them. I had knocked my head some and probably twisted my right ankle a tad, but otherwise, I felt fine enough; I was made of sturdier stuff and a single fall did hardly knock the stuffing out of me.

“I’m fine, stop fretting.” I laughed, but when I got up, a sharp pain lanced through my right leg.

“You’re not.” Ori sighed, throwing the blades to the ground, and lifting me into his arms once again.

“How is she, Ori?” The queen’s soft voice was heard, and Ori turned around. For a moment, I was afraid he’d bow and drop me, but he merely inclined his head while saying: “She might have twisted her ankle.”

With a serious mien, the queen turned effortlessly on her skates, lifting two fingers to her lips and let out a sharp whistle.

“You two fools, ice for the Mistress’s ankle, chop chop! I also think you might want to bring tea to her rooms, I’m sure Bombur will put the cakes you were to have later on a nice platter that you’ll take up for her, won’t you?”

Kíli and Fíli looked so miserable about the accident and my obvious discomfort; the lack of decorum and the fact that they had recklessly endangered one of their subjects for fun, aside, that – notwithstanding their own fondness of sweets – they agreed immediately to the queen’s terms.

“It’s nothing. If I wasn’t so incompetent…” I tried to intervene, but she merely waved away my words. “It’s important for them to learn that their own enjoyment can never be paid by the pain of others. It’s not seemly, it’s not kingly, it’s far from what their mother and uncle have tried to instil in them, and they have to redeem themselves.” The queen was clearly sympathetic, but as the king’s wife, she knew well that the duty that was bound to the title was a heavy burden one could never really take off.

“It’s nothing.” I repeated, but Ori had turned around again and was carrying me back to my rooms where he set me down gingerly and started unwrapping me slowly, piece by piece. It would have given rise to a whole slew of fancies had I not felt drowsy and slightly pained still, and had he not looked so morosely tense while tending to me.

“You too, stop it. It was a dumb accident. I’ll get better at it, I promise and then, we’ll be skating merrily across the lake at a more leisurely pace than the king and the princes, but faster than today, what say you?” I spoke from my throne of pillows.

“You want to do it again?” Ori seemed surprised, propping up my injured ankle on his thigh and stroking my shin gently.

“You seemed so happy to show me, so yes, I want to try again.” I replied softly, throwing a quick glance at the door. “Come here. They won’t arrive for another few minutes!” I whispered, beckoning my betrothed to my flushed face.

“You really are the sweetest thing, love.” I grinned, as he understood, blushing furiously but complying immediately as well; making his way to my head cautiously, he cupped my face in his hand and pressed his lips adoringly on mine.

“See? I’m all healed up again.” I grinned against his warm, soft skin that smelled of cold, crisp air and winter meadows.

“Don’t tell them! Thorin relies on us to make them suffer a little.” Ori chuckled, caressing my cheek, and peppering small kisses all over my face. “I’m sure Bifur’s feet will do the job.” I laughed as I sank against his shoulder, as happy as anyone could be on a blistering winter day.

92 notes · View notes

hornime · 3 years

Text

saeko, an angel

you’ll let yourself believe a vain and untrue fairytale that humans can fly among the angels if it means that you can be in her presence for a moment longer.

warnings: gay lol

w/c: 2k

a/n: i’m so in love with her. also this is sfw which goes to show how much i am in love with her.

you crack your eyes open, a bright white light blinding you and forcing you to close them again, the burn settling into your pupils. you wait a minute, letting the red behind your closed eyelids warm to a fiery orange, before trying again, squinting as you let your eyes slowly adjust to the morning sun. and then you see her, through the blurry haze of dawn.

an angel.

you silently blink early tears away, too afraid of moving or making a noise and scaring the divine being away. as bubbles of light start sharpening into crisp clarity, you realize where you are: a hotel bed, with clean white curtains and walls framing a heavenly scene. and you realize what you’re seeing: saeko. so yeah, close enough, you think. an angel.

you remain immobile: your hands are tucked under the pillow and quickly going numb at the uncomfortable position, and the kink in your neck is demanding more and more of your attention as your nerves realize that you’re awake, naturally refusing to give you a mere minute of painlessness. but the aches in your joints and throbbing behind your eyes become secondary as you become transfixed on her, her. her, silently sitting on the edge of the bed and playing with the linen beneath her with the tips of her fingers, only half of her face towards you. she hasn’t noticed that you’re awake yet, a serene smile gracing her face as she remembers a joke, something between her and herself. saeko, an angel.

it’s funny, you think, how mom always told me that mornings were times of clarity, times when things make sense. you remember a story she’d tell you when you were little.

“there’s something about the time when half the world is sleeping and the other half wishes they were sleeping,” she used to say, “that makes things make sense. everyone’s too groggy to start thinking their thoughts for the day. so the universe has all of these thought bubbles in the air, floating around, waiting for someone to just pluck it out of the air.”

“like a ballon?” you’d ask.

“yes,” she’d chuckle. “like a balloon. and you can just pluck it out of the air! sometimes, when the universe needs you to realize something, all those thought balloons will come rushing towards you, and they’ll form a big,” she’d spread her arms for emphasis, “big, big cloud of thoughts. and suddenly, everything would make sense. and you’d get the courage to do something that you’ve been wanting to for a while.”

you used to laugh at that story, imagining someone with a giant thought bubble sneaking out of their ears, carrying them up, up into the air. what could someone even be thinking about, you’d wonder, that would make their bubble so big? you couldn’t fathom contemplating something so large and important that you’d worry it could whisk you away into the atmosphere.

but now, laying here in silence, mom’s words were resurfacing to the flesh of your chest, warming it with something that had been burning there for a while, burning with what the universe had been wanting you to realize for quite some time now.

you were just scratching the surface of what that was threatened to make you weightless, the strings of balloons tugging restlessly at your arms and legs, wishing you’d just let them fly already. wishing you’d just let yourself fly.

you don’t even realize your eyes are closing until you glance back up again, at the angel perched next to you, wingless yet still able to show you the wonders of the sky. saeko, an angel.

you study her for who-knows-how-long, noting the sheer beauty before you, so delicate yet strong you worry it’ll break itself or break you from the weight of its magnificence. she doesn’t even know, you register, she doesn’t even know that each moment around her is a blessing.

and you know for a fact that each moment is a blessing, because angels are blessings, and she’s an angel. somewhere in the murky depths of moral ambiguity, between drops of bitter vodka from a teenage birthday party and stolen quarters from the mall fountain, there is a glow of truth and irrefutable certitude: that she is an angel. saeko, an angel.

and you, blessed.

wisps of blonde hair curl from her forehead to her jaw, whispering words in gold that you can only partially translate into a hymn of some kind, its rhythm vibrating along the headboard of the bed and prodding at your ears. you wish to brush them behind her ears, so cliche, she’d say, just so you can see more of that heavenly face. god, you groan internally, why’d you make her so fucking perfect? how’s that fair to any of us mortals? how’s that fair to me?

you trail your eyes down the bridge of her nose, slanted perfectly. you’ve never really thought about what the perfect nose bridge would be, but you know without a doubt that she has it. of course she does. saeko’s perfect. saeko, an angel.

and before you can help yourself, you’re tracing the curve of her lips, plump and pink and oh-so-kissable. you’d drown in those lips if you tried: visions of how they stretch into cheeky grins and purse into pouts could flood your mind if you let them. and you don’t let them, at least not as often anymore, especially since her lips can be really distracting, and last time you thought about them you were driving, and saeko shrieked in laughter when you called her telling her the reason there’s a new dent on the side of the car.

“we can’t both be bad drivers!” she’d giggled. “that’s feeding into the gay stereotype!”

“it’s not my fault,” you’d grumbled, “that i can only concentrate on one thing when i’m behind the wheel.”

“that ‘thing’ should be the road! not my lips!”

“yeah, i know! but ‘i kissed a girl’ was on the radio and then i thought about kissing a girl and that girl was you and then one thing led to another and...”

the corners of your lips turn up at the memory. although you had been pretty pissed about having to pay for a repair, saeko proceeded to try and fix the dent herself with a plunger since she has a vendetta against auto shops because “they’ll take advantage of pretty things like you” and “motorcycles aren’t that different from cars anyway, so its fine.” and she was sure to give you some quality time with the lips that you’d been so distracted by, so even the fact that your insurance company had upped your rates hadn’t bothered you too much.

the strings of your thought balloons dangle in the air, glowing in the sunlight streaming through the window. you wonder how saeko hasn’t seen them yet. she must really be lost in thought.

your gaze remains steady on her face, her glory, her beauty. i’m lucky, you decide. so so lucky. you can feel your limbs be lifted slowly into the air. the balloons are getting restless.

you’re almost taken aback when you feel something wet roll down your cheek. are you... crying? seriously? you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to get a hold of your emotions. when’s even the last time i felt this in lo—

“hey.” saeko’s soft voice makes you crack open your eyelids as she runs a hand along your hair. “are you okay? you’re crying.”

you smoosh your face further into the pillow. “i don’t know,” you mumble through the comforter.

she repositions herself on the bed so that she’s sitting criss-cross towards you, leaning forward to bring her face closer to yours. “are you on your period?”

“no,” you respond immediately. you nuzzle further into the sheets, but poke your head out again. “wait, i’m not sure. what day is it?”

“the 21st.”

“oh,” you roll over onto your back, stretching your arms out hoping that she’ll hug you. “then maybe.”

saeko obliges to your silent request, crawling her way over and straddling the blanket over your legs before resting the top half of her body on yours. “i knew it,” she whispers into your neck.

you don’t dare look her in the eyes. you know that mortals will disintegrate if they look directly at an angel. you read that in a percy jackson book or something.

but the thought balloons are yanking at your arms, forcing your fingers to run down her spine and through her hair. i must be insane, you think. i’m insane to think that i’ll ever be enough for her.

she’s an angel, you remind yourself to no avail. wingless, but can still fly. and you are nothing but a human, rooted to the ground by gravity and inevitable death. you’d be a fool to think that you’d ever be enough; after all, what bird would choose to stay on the ground when it can explore a limitless sky?

but you are a fool. you know that now, even if you were in denial before. you’ll let your delicate and fragile thought bubbles carry you into the air and bask in the temporary feelings of freedom before they pop and you crash and burn through the atmosphere. you’ll let yourself believe a vain and untrue fairytale that humans can fly among the angels if it means that you can be in her presence for a moment longer.

you most certainly are a fool, because you let your thought bubbles wrap their strings around you like a harness, pull themselves taut, and prepare yourself to jump out into the morning heavens, putting your trust into the wind to carry you alongside her. your toes are dangling across the edge, the open beyond becoming more and more appealing than the safety of the hotel room. you know that there is no do-over once you take the leap, once you try to fly. you’ll either get to fly beside her or you’ll fall to the ground and face an untimely end. but fuck if you aren’t daring, yearning, stupid enough to jump.

you swallow. there really is no going back from this.

“saeko?” you let the words carry through the stagnant air of the room, filled with the lemony scent of an air freshener and saeko’s shampoo.

“hm?”

“i—” the wind whips widely at your back and at your balloons, sending them into all directions as they maintain their hold on you. it’s compelling you to fall, to throw caution into it and hold tightly to your faith and let go of your tether. you must be crazy because you’ve already made up your mind. this decision shouldn’t be that easy, but you are scarily sure.

the earth’s roots are retreating back into the grass and your body is free for the first time. you can’t tell if the air will catch you, but it doesn’t matter anymore. you’ll be the first human to fly, even if it kills you. it probably will.

“i love you.” your feet leave ground and find nothing below them. the helium in your balloons is straining against your weight. your breath hitches—maybe this is how your life ends. maybe this is how the illusion that you’d created for yourself, a love between a human and an angel, disappears: shattered like bones on concrete.

you open your eyes. you hadn’t even realized you closed them. they meet a sky of warm brown, glinting with the promise of flight. the brightness of her smile makes the light of the sun pale in comparison, the same sun she’s gotten closer to than you ever will. her nose is dotted with freckles, mirroring the constellations that you’re sure she’s flown through countless times. you can practically see her wings, her halo. your confession, one you thought would land heavily in the space between you, feels like its expanding into something light. something... weightless.

the air seems to grow solid beneath you. it’s like you’ve realized you can fly. you’re starting to think you can.

“i love you, too.”

she loves you. saeko loves you.

saeko, an angel.

#hq #haikyuu #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff #hq smut #haikyuu smut #saeko tanaka #saeko x reader #saeko x y/n #saeko smut #saeko fluff #hq saeko #[ 🎞 ] — anihaven

157 notes · View notes

honeymooneyy · 3 years

Text

anything for his moony

au where the wizarding war never happened, marauders are all still alive :)

Remus always knew he would have an untimely death.

There wasn’t much material about werewolves, aside from the numerus ways to kill one, but they all had reached a unanimous decision: werewolves don’t have a very long lifespan. Of course, most of their deaths were the result of spiteful wizards, Greyback’s reputation, and the overall dislike of werewolves. But in the small chance one was able to lead a peaceful life, their bodies simply couldn’t handle the rigor of turning every month.

Despite all the reading he had done, nothing could’ve prepared him for how soon it approached him.

When he awoke the morning of the full moon, barely in his mid-thirties, he had a nagging feeling that it would be his last. He wasn’t quite sure how he knew, but he just knew. Despite everything, a sense of relief consumed him. One more time.

The only drawback would have to be Sirius Black.

If anything could convince Remus Lupin to undergo a hundred more full moons, it would be the promise of a life with Sirius Black. The last two decades had given him a taste of what it was like to be swept up in the fairy tale that was Sirius, and the fact that he wouldn’t be able to witness a couple more killed Remus. But he knew it would be so much worse for Sirius.

As he sat down next to his lover at breakfast, who leant over to press a chaste kiss to his cheek, he couldn’t find the words to explain the feeling of impending doom he was experiencing. Sirius must’ve noticed his look of sorrow because he settled in his seat, cocking his head ever so slightly.

“You okay, Moony?” He asked softly, pressing a comforting hand against Remus’ shoulder.

The nickname made him smile, but it was short lived. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Sirius immediately withdrew his hand, a flurry of emotions flickering across his face. “What?”

Oh god, he thought Remus meant their relationship. Remus reached for his hand, clasping it between both of his. “No, I don’t mean us, you dolt.”

Sirius visibly relaxed before frowning again. “Then what?”

Remus’ eyes flickered to the fading, barely visible, moon from last night. “I think it’s my last one.”

Sirius understood.

He pulled Remus into the tightest hug he’s ever given, and Remus was clawing at his sweater as he finally gave in to the sob that had been building up in his chest. As he buried his face into the crook of Sirius’ neck and cried, he could faintly feel tears slipping into his hair and pulled away to meet Sirius’ watery gaze.

“I love you.” Remus whispered. “Thank you for giving me the best life I could’ve hoped for.”

Sirius sniffled, shaking his head. “I didn’t do anything. I should’ve done so much more. It’s too early, Merlin, Remus, we’re too young, you’re too young.”

“I’m older than most. I’m lucky.” Remus pushed Sirius’ hair out of his face, before cupping his cheek. “I had you. And James. And Lily. And Peter. I had the best friends I could hope for. I got to spend so much time with the love of my life.”

Sirius brought his own hand up to cover Remus’. “I love you, Remus. You’re my person. I can’t do this without you.”

“You can. You will. I believe in you.” Remus finally gave in and kissed Sirius softly. “You’re brilliant, Sirius.”

“Stop complimenting me. I’m not the one dying.” Sirius’ voice cracked at the last word and the tears building up in his eyes finally overflowed.

“I know, love, I know,” Remus murmured, pulling Sirius into a hug this time.

Remus felt much like a dog that was about to be put down with the way Sirius made his favorite meals for lunch and dinner, constantly doting on him and rarely leaving his side. He had asked about calling the others over but Remus declined, he didn’t want to be babied in his final hours. He loved his friends, but right now, he just needed time with Sirius.

He hadn’t completely forgotten about the others, instead writing them each a letter that Sirius promised to deliver the next day. He couldn’t stomach the idea of so many goodbye’s and he knew it was selfish but Sirius didn’t argue either.

And so, that night, Remus turned for the final time. Every bone in his body broke only to be remolded into something new, something animalistic. For the last time, Moony stretched out after the brutal experience of turning. For the last time, Moon bounded through the woods, closely followed by his favorite play-mate. And for the last time, Padfoot curled up near Moony as he painstakingly turned back to Remus.

When Remus was back completely, he found himself lying on the floor of the forest still. His head was cradled in Sirius’ lap, soft fingers combing through his hair.

“I thought we could watch the sun rise,” Sirius whispered before leaning down to kiss Remus’ dirt-streaked forehead. “You always did like sunrises, you romantic.”

Remus took a shaky breath, feeling as if his lungs weren’t working to their full capacity. They probably weren’t. No one really described exactly how werewolves die naturally, just a vague line of, “their bodies being unable to handle the process of turning so often and soon shutting down.”

“Hi,” Remus finally whispered when he found his voice. “Missed you.”

“Hey, Moony,” Sirius’s voice was quiet, as he knew how overly sensitive all of Remus’ senses were after the moon. “Had a fun night?”

Remus gave a wheezy laugh at that before it dissolved into a fit of coughs and Sirius rubbed his chest soothingly. “So much fun.”

“I’m glad.” Sirius’s hand that had been rubbing his chest drifted to take Remus’, linking their fingers together.

Remus was quiet for a moment before voicing the first thought he had. “I was going to plant a garden this spring.”

“Really?” Sirius’ voice is watery but he holds himself together for Remus’ sake. “What are you going to plant?”

Remus smiles at the way Sirius talks as if he’ll be there to do it. “Lilies, obviously. Maybe some daffodils?”

“We can do that, love,” Sirius murmurs, his other hand brushing over Remus’ cheekbone. “We’ll plant every flower there is.”

“Every flower ever?”

“Yes. Anything for you, my Moony. I’ll build you a swing so you can read outside with your flowers.”

Remus nods contently at that, his head lolling in Sirius’ lap. “I never finished my book.”

“That’s okay. Leave it to your imagination. I’ll finish it for you.” Sirius promises with a choked laugh.

Remus doesn’t say anything, just staring up at his lover. How could someone remain so beautiful after so many years? That, he would never know. Time had taken it’s toll on him, but Sirius was still so attractive it made Remus’ chest burst with adoration. But one thing that never changed was his eyes. Those silvery eyes that were now welling up with tears as he stared down at Remus.

“Remus?” His voice is a whisper and Remus nods.

“’M here.” The words were uttered with so much effort Remus knows his time is close. “I love you, Sirius. Always have.”

Sirius nods fervently. “I love you, Remus. I love you so much, and I’ll miss you even more.”

Remus gives him a soft smile, leaving his gaze on Sirius’ face, never having even glanced at the sunrise. He wanted Sirius to be the last thing he saw, and it was.

Sirius finally allowed himself to cry as he closed Remus’ eyes with shaky hands. He sobbed as he carried his best friend back to their house. He sobbed as he read that book Remus had been entranced by for the last few days. And he sobbed as he planted lilies and daffodils and orchids and every flower he could think of.

Anything for his Moony.

#im crying #wolfstar #wolfstar angst #remus lupin #remus lupin angst #sirius black #remus lupin x sirius black #remus dying #wolfstar oneshot #wolfstar drabble #wolfstar fluff #im so sorry #cried while writing this #remus lupin deserves the world

117 notes · View notes

hndcrm · 3 years

Note

47 and Diana are in the safehouse in Berlin. As night falls 47, plagued by his newfound memories, can't sleep. He wanders through the house and discovers Diana snores and talkes in her sleep. What will he do about it?!😏

I have made this so much angstier than the prompt calls for im so sorry my brain only provides pain apparently

He was glad to have his memories back. There was no denying it. It was liberating to know the events of his life in order, to have them fade back into something understandable as opposed to the blank, cryptic void from before. Some were better than others, memories of his and subject 6’s friendship, of the rare times he’d been able to sneak away with his bunny before its untimely and cruel murder.

Despite this, the memories were overwhelmingly bad, and none quite as pervasive and frightening as the car bomb in 1989.

He was the one to trigger it. It was a mission like any other at the time, he hadn’t thought much of it. Simple. Two targets, Peter and Nancy Burnwood, their daughter considered acceptable collateral damage. In the end, there was no collateral damage and perhaps that’s the only comfort he takes from the memory, that he didn’t kill her, that he was lucky enough to have her alive today. It’s not comforting because he knows she will leave him as soon as she finds out. He can’t blame her. He’s the one responsible for her involvement in everything bad in their world. He killed her parents, changed her life forever, ruined it without a second thought at the time. He recalls with tears in his eyes how she was there, how she was present when he set it off, that this innocent child had to witness the violent death of her parents. He’s hurt Diana irreversibly and she will hate him forever if she finds out.

Even throughout his career with her, he often pondered morality and his own goodness. Diana became his conscience and urged in private that he wasn’t evil, promised him that he was worthy of kindness and love. He wasn’t sure even then how much he believed her. He trusted her, however, so he did not question the assertions.

He knows she was wrong now. She deserves to know the truth, but it would result in her disappearing from his life, and he’s sure he would die without her.

And now, he cannot sleep. He stares out of the window in the living room and watches the night sky, silently bets on how long it will be before he turns to alcohol for comfort.

There are soft snores coming from Diana’s bedroom. He gulps. The door is tilted open.

The scene before him is like some practical test of his character and self-control. He could come in and watch her sleep, just for a few moments. It wouldn’t disturb her and she would never know, and he could memorise the details of her face, add to his mental depiction of her before she leaves him, imagine what it could be like to hold her like this if they could ever be this intimate together. He could pretend to be one of the few lucky men who have been able to truly witness this, to be able to say they’ve had the pleasure of sleeping next to Diana Burnwood herself.

Or he could do the right thing and close the door, minding his own business as a professional work colleague should, though even that description is generous towards him after what he’s done. He is evil.

Diana says he is good, but he knows she’s wrong. If he were good he wouldn’t want to come in and see her right now.

It’s late and he cannot sleep, he thinks the guilt will swallow him whole if he does not distract himself. He deserves nothing to do with her, deserves to die by her hands a million times over and rot in the deepest circle of hell, but now, watching her silently while she sleeps does not seem so sinful in comparison to the pain he has caused her.

He pushes the door open enough to slide inside and tilts it closed.

The moonlight peeking from behind the curtain streaks across her ribs and reminds him of a bullet that he was responsible for. He feels sick. She deserves so much better.

She’s tangled in the sheets, hair flamed out around her face, and instantly there’s an urge to run his hands through it, to move it off her cheek and behind her ear.

She looks delicate. He knows better than to think so improperly of her, ‘delicate’ is an insult when she is a force to be reckoned with and could kill a man with her sharp-tongued nature alone, but there is no denying the more physical aspects of her beauty when she’s sprawled out so ravishingly. Her upper lip is carved down carefully, brows furrowed slightly, bosom caressed by her silk nightgown and her hands elegantly tangled in the sheets, like a scene from an ancient erotic painting, beauty that could only be appropriately captured by a lover.

She stirs then, and he holds his breath, terrified that he’s awoken her with his selfishness.

She hums something incomprehensible, and the thought that she might sleeptalk scares him. He should leave. Diana trusts him, she does not hide from him. If what she dreams of is something he already knows, there’s no use invading her privacy. If what she dreams of is something he is not aware of, then he should stay clueless, respect her choice to keep it from him and leave, pretending he was never here.

He decides to do the right thing. He pads towards the door.

He’s stopped in his tracks when he hears her moan his name. He can feel his face heating up. He’s evil for having ever come here in the first place. How can he disrespect her so cruelly?

Curiosity turns him around, as he tries to picture the shape her mouth might take when she moans his name, but there is little left to the imagination when she does it again, quieter, and the sight is somehow more erotic and vulgar than anything he’s ever seen, he feels his trousers tightening.

He knows she doesn’t really want him like this. Dreams don’t reflect reality. Perhaps she thought of him crudely once, and he was lucky enough to catch it, but it was a one-off because she must know she deserves better than him.

He’d be more than willing to play out her dreams in reality. He couldn’t, of course, bring himself to ever actually do it. Their shared intimacy exists purely as a fantasy in both of their imaginations.

He’s grateful for his trained stillness as he’s about to leave again, determined that he’s long crossed a line. He must go if he ever wants Diana to think of him neutrally, at least. If she wakes up to see him standing before her so improperly she’ll know of his vile nature before he reveals it.

As he’s something like a metre away from the door, he sees a frustrated Olivia rub her eyes and grumble ‘fucking Burnwood’, then she slams the door in front of him before he can escape and he panics as he’s stuck in a deeply compromising position. The door is too squeaky to risk opening again, but it’s too late, for when he turns around to look at Diana, she’s awake, rubbing her eyes and squinting in the dark. He prays she doesn’t see him.

“47? Is that you?” She calls out, and he freezes. He could still leave. She would know he was here, but it would save him the embarrassing conversation until the morning at least, or maybe, hopefully, she’d forget. “What are you doing here?” She sits up in bed, a strap of her nightgown falling down her arm. The usual excuses for trespassing won’t cut it. I got lost, he thinks sourly.

“I couldn’t sleep.” He starts. How much of the truth should he reveal? Lying to her feels wrong, he knows she knows him too well for it. “I heard you talking, I thought maybe something was wrong.”

“Oh.” Now she turns red. “Well, I’m quite alright.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. He nods dumbly.

“Good.”

“And 47,” she adds then. “What did you hear?” She does a good job of playing off her voice crack, but he can sense the fear in her voice - fear he is responsible for. Why wouldn’t she fear him when he disrespects her like this?

“It was nothing - I didn’t understand anything.” He lies. He must lie to make her feel better. He shouldn’t have come in in the first place. She plays with the strap of her nightgown. He wants to leave but she looks so worried. Guilt greets him again.

“You’ve been avoiding me lately.” She says finally, chest rising in the familiar pattern she uses to calm herself down. “Is everything alright?”

I yearn for you, he thinks. It’s true. The thought tastes disgusting on his tongue.

“The serum. The memories-” he begins, but the following words don’t come. He doesn’t know how to tell her the truth. He doesn’t want to. She furrows her brows together and looks sadly at him.

“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Diana gives him a lopsided smile. “If you want to talk about it-”

“No.” His voice sounds harsher than he intends. She cannot know.

He leaves. Another night is spent alone on the cold leather couch, thinking of her in the dark. Eventually, guilt takes over and he cannot bear to think of anything, so he opens a lager and drinks himself to sleep.

He wakes up to find himself covered by a blanket in the morning, and Diana sitting in an armchair next to him. He gulps.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she sighs. He shakes his head, mutters a protest, but the memories of his actions flooding back terrify him. He’s been awful.

He sits up. She hasn’t done anything wrong, and the shame painted across her face makes his insides twist with guilt. He doesn’t deserve to touch her, but all he can think of is comforting her, so he reaches out tentatively. Immediately she smiles at him and wraps her arms around him. It’s unfair how good it feels, how their bodies seem to fit so well together, and she’s innocently on his lap in his embrace, unaware of how many nights he’s spent fantasizing about this. He deserves none of it, he knows.

“I’m sorry, Diana.” He almost sulks into the warm skin revealed by her bateau neckline.

“Whatever for?” She whispers, and he aches again. He can’t tell her.

“I love you,” he whispers as the tears run down his cheeks and he wonders if she can feel them on her neck. It comes out instinctually, and he regrets it immediately. She doesn’t answer. He prays she won’t think anything of it. He’s pathetic. “I’m so sorry.”

They don’t speak of it again, and he spends every living second praying for her forgiveness, for when she eventually finds out.

When he knows she knows, it’s too late for him, and he’s glad she’s killed him. He spends his dying moments craning his neck up to ensure she’s his last dying image. He hopes Edwards will be kind to her.

#hitman #diana/47 #diana burnwood #agent 47 #hitman fic #fic requests

39 notes · View notes

wendimydarling · 3 years

Text

Cover the Mirrors

Summary: Amber is earning a masters degree in mythology and folklore; when a handsome stranger sweeps her off her feet, she’s left wondering how, and struggles to keep up with his lifestyle.

Pairing: Vampire!August Walker x OFC (first person reader)

Word Count: 6826

Warnings: Alright, we ready to get into the menu of delights we will be reading today? Okay but seriously, if you are triggered by anything on this list, it is your responsibility to not read this work of fiction. The warnings are as follows: manipulation, subtle exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, mention of oral (male receiving), biting, clawing, choking, blood, male violence, gore, non-con, rape, spitting, fear play, primal play, breeding, mention of death, torture, and potentially cannibalism, if you squint.

A/N: Okay so this story is based off of this thread where @killjoy-assbutt-1112 gave me a fic title, but I added another twist to it that I’d been brewing for months; I was excited about it but now I’m not. Whatever, I’ll give it to you anyway. Sources for my vampire lore came from here and here. Cover art was made by me; August was drawn by the amazingly talented @cheyentjj and has been used with her permission. Thank you so much to everyone who brainstormed with me, and a special thanks to @agniavateira for betaing!

“If you look at the Slavic region, vampire folklore runs rampant. One especially interesting specimen is the Pijavica. The Pijavica (translated “leech”, or “drinker”) was a rare species of vampire— traditionally male, and a powerfully strong, cold-blooded killer. The potential for conception is most commonly believed to be through the incest of the deceased with his mother during his life, though some believe that one can be created through the exceptionally malicious and evil acts of the deceased before his death.

The birth of a Pijavica is attributed to many different causes, including suffering an “unnatural” or untimely death such as suicide, excommunication, improper burial rituals, or even simple causes such as an animal jumping or bird flying over either the corpse or the empty grave, being conceived on certain days, or being born with a caul, teeth, or tail.”

I paused my typing, fingers leaving the keyboard in order to brush loose strands of hair from my face. Around me, the baristas of my favorite coffee shop were buzzing like worker bees in an old hive; they were gearing up for the lunch rush, and I realized I’d been here four hours already.

This place had long been my go-to study zone. It was small; there was just enough hustle and bustle to keep me from descending too deep into the abyss of studying and yet, it had the respect of the patrons that a library does. The owner, Fred, made sure that conversations were kept in hushed tones, courteous to those of us who needed to work in noise instead of quiet.

“If ya wanna be loud, go sit at a Starbucks!” He’d huff at those who didn’t heed his warning.

My eyes took in the familiar surroundings as I stretched. An oversized wood-burning fireplace filled the wall next to the vintage cash register; it was sandwiched between two built-in bookcases housing stories of all kinds that were meant to be read and enjoyed. The old stone clackling ran all the way up the wall, and a custom mantle made from an old oak tree that had fallen in Fred’s backyard sat delicately above the firebox. Yes, this shop was magical. It held a special place in my heart, and I’d visited so often that old Fred had deemed the table I sat at as “my table”. It was always kept reserved for me.

I reached for my coffee without looking; my brain needed more caffeine. I’d spent months on this master thesis, and yet for some reason, the notion of vampires was such a struggle. I didn’t understand the fear of those who lived back then. The origins of bloodsuckers were chaotic, the “treatments” laughable and still, people were willing to kill their own offspring over such nonsensical superstitions. Cold drops of stale roast hit my lips in a harsh reminder that I’d finished my previous dose. I sighed heavily and dropped the cup to the wooden surface of my table. Eyes closed, I laced my fingers around my neck and drew my elbows together to stretch my spine. Coffee. I need more coffee.

“Having trouble?”

A man’s baritone, smooth as whiskey interrupted my thoughts. My body jolted at his leisurely tone, and I nearly tumbled off the chair as my eyes snapped open to view the intruder. Sitting across from me was anything but a man; I was in the presence of divine artistry, two breathtaking orbs of gray-washed sky centered below auburn curls that adorned his perfectly symmetrical face. A sharp nose pointed to his strong jaw, while an amused smirk tugged at the corner of lips that I’m certain could send even a nun to her bedroom for self-maintenance. He wore a crisp, pinstripe suit, the buttons of his dress shirt undone sinfully low, revealing a smattering of additional curls.

My oversized turtleneck sweater and leggings suddenly felt subpar.

“The name’s Walker,” he mused further, gesturing a large hand toward the empty paper tumbler that was now lying on its side. “What were you drinking?”

“I--I um,” I fumbled with my words, embarrassed by my sudden inability to form a proper sentence. “I had a flat white? With two extra shots of espresso.”

The man named Walker had the cup in his hand and was out of his chair before I could blink; he was already ordering another coffee by the time I managed to process his intentions. I watched him hand the barista a bill I couldn’t see, but by the shocked expression on her face at the man’s declination of the change, it must have been a sizable amount. He sat down at the table again and stared at my chest unabashedly, making it clear he wasn’t just looking but imagining as well.

I should have been offended or felt objectified, but instead I felt drawn into his gaze.

“Having trouble?” He asked again, gesturing this time at my laptop.

“How long were you sitting there?” I blurted out, still too flummoxed to answer his question. Walker laughed and I swear, time stood still. Never in my life had I heard something so beautiful.

“Long enough.”

His reply was short and cryptic, a dismissal of my burgeoning curiosity. The barista chose that moment to bring two orders of coffee to the table, offering both of them to Walker by mistake. I took in her awestruck countenance, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that if my face matched hers I’d sink to the floor and die of shame. That notion shook me from my stupor and I was finally able to address his question.

“It’s my master thesis,” I explained, taking a sip of the scalding liquid he handed me. “I’m a History major, with an emphasis in mythology and folklore.”

I took another sip and tapped my phone, large numbers greeting me on the screen. Numbers that told me I was extremely late.

“Oh my god I have to go, I’m so sorry!” I apologized, scrambling to pack my things. In my haste I knocked my drink off the table. Resignation sunk in deep, submission to the knowledge of further humiliation at the impending spill. None came however, as Walker caught the drink in his hand before it crashed to the dark tiles.

“Thank you,” I murmured, gawking at him in bewilderment. Who was this man?

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, standing to help me collect the remainder of my books. “I’m interested in your thesis, could we perhaps discuss it over dinner? I don’t want to keep you from your next engagement.”

“I—” I stared at him, his face open and inviting. I’d been asked out before, but never this abruptly, and never by someone who looked and behaved like him. It sounded like an adventure…or a good story to tell on girls’ night at least.

“You know what, sure. Why not?”

I scribbled my number onto a napkin and slid it his way, grabbing the rest of my gear and heading toward the door. As I pushed against the hard metal, Walker’s large fingers caught my wrist, wrapping around it like ivy wraps around a lamppost. They were cool to the touch and yet somehow, my entire body immediately felt heated.

“We forgot first names,” he chuckled, “I’m August.”

I grinned sheepishly, pulling my arm from his surprisingly firm grip. The clank of the metal door handle resonated with the introduction I threw over my shoulder as I left the warmth of the shop and the handsome man behind.

“Amber.”

It took August a full week to call me. I felt like a fool; Did I leave on a poor note? Had I offended him somehow? Did he simply decide to change his fucking mind? I was kicking myself for saying yes; how could I have agreed to go on a date with a complete stranger? Now that I was no longer in his flustering presence, I began to see reason again. I knew nothing more than this man’s name, and the fact that he was more than likely rich. He could be a cold-blooded killer for all I knew, and I had every intention of telling him off.

I was in my apartment when he called. Still stuck on my thesis, I was currently unable to determine how best to explain the theory behind the sexual appeal of vampires. In my frustration, I hung upside down over the side of my bed, reading a book that discussed the many different works of literature revolving around vampirical romanticism and hoping the blood rushing to my brain would help me ascertain how to go about my explanation. The book was written by two authors who essentially argue the whole time, one of them convinced that the human fascination with vampires stems from the cannibalistic nature of bloodsucking or that it alluded to other bodily fluids such as semen, whereas the other stood firm in his belief that it held a much simpler cause; it was nothing more than the presence of oral fixation and sadism that caused the fantasy to plant its seed.

My phone vibrated but I ignored it, too engrossed in my book to be bothered with answering. I was so close… the answer was right there, it just continued to escape me. It wasn’t until my phone vibrated a second time to notify me of a voicemail that I put the pages down and picked up the electronic device.

The moment I heard August excusing his delay in calling to a work emergency, I immediately sat up and hit redial. There was something in his voice that made my heart quicken and my pulse race; it made the hair on my arms stand on end. I regretted sitting up so fast as it rang, the blood surrounding my brain draining quickly into the rest of my body. August answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Amber.”

“I—hi.”

I rolled my eyes then flinched in pain, congratulating myself sarcastically on how pathetic that response sounded with a slap of my palm to my forehead.

“Please, allow me to apologize again for waiting so long to call,” August insisted, seemingly unphased by my lack of vocabulary. “I still intend to take you to dinner, that is if you haven’t written me off completely.”

“No it’s fine, I totally get it,” I assured him. I had completely forgotten my earlier annoyance. He had explained it after all, and it could happen to anyone.

“Perfect. I’ll send a car tonight then, at seven. Wear something revealing please, I wasn’t able to see that pretty little neck of yours last time.”

My insides shook with an unexpected pang of shocked arousal at August’s request. The sexual confidence saturating his tone had me instantly reduced to nothing more than a deep desire for him to drag me to my knees by my hair. Why I wasn’t offended by the dominantly abrupt way this man spoke to me, I’ll never know. I put on the best flirty air I could manage in my stupor.

“I think I can manage that. Might have to charge you though.”

August laughed for the second time since I’d known him and I smiled, proud that I’d caused such a melodious sound to grace this earth.

“I like your spirit; you’re gonna be fun. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I—okay bye,” I managed to say before he hung up. I stared at my phone stupidly, as though I thought he was going to call again. Instead, the large clock face glared up at me like it always does, an ever present reminder that I live on a different plane of time than the rest of the world. I fell back on the bed, thinking about the man named August.

He likes my spirit? I hadn’t really shown him much, I’d been unable to do anything but stammer and trip over my words like a schoolgirl would when confronted by the cutest jock at school. What could he possibly see in me? The woman I truly was, the one I knew was underneath the bumbling idiot finally answered me. You’ve got three hours, Amber. Show him what you’re made of.

Resolve set in, and I bounced off the bed and walked toward my closet. For whatever reason, he’d chosen me, so I was going to let my confidence in that thought override all the self-doubt that was threatening to surface. I pulled my favorite dress from the hanger and set out to work. He wanted revealing? Then revealing is what he’d get, but I was going to do it my way.

The car was punctual, though I was less so. I scrambled to put diamond studs in my ears while being driven to some unknown location, my nerves making my hands shake. Once again, the notion that I could be driving to my death crept up my spine, but I brushed it off. Rich men send cars, it’s what they do. And I am an intelligent woman, I wouldn’t let myself be put in that situation.

Would I?

Touching the final stroke of Red Wine lipstick on my lips, I pulled my loose curls over my shoulder to expose my neck and put my things in my vintage black clutch, staring out the window at the ancient building that housed the most expensive club in town. I was suddenly grateful I’d chosen such a fancy dress. I fidgeted with the soft hem of the sleeve at my wrist, drawing it back and forth between my fingers while I waited for the driver to come to a stop.

I saw August there waiting, looking sharp as ever in another expensive three-piece suit, buttons undone just as low as the first time. This time however, I felt much better matched to his attire, and my confidence rose right next to my excitement. August came down the steps to open the door and I took his hand, hiking the burgundy velvet up to my thigh so that I could exit the car smoothly. The heavy fabric dropped to the ground the moment I freed it from my grasp, allowing August to study how I’d chosen to honor his request.

August drank in my covered form, taking in the way my dress hugged my curves and accentuated what it needed to. His eyes darkened as they lingered on the single large triangular section of bare skin that started at my shoulders and came to a point between my breasts, and I watched his tongue dart out of his mouth softly. He looked downright hungry. August stepped closer, fingertips grazing the flesh on my collarbone before he fastened his grip onto my nape and inhaled the hair at my temple deeply, pressing his lips to my ear.

“You are simply mouthwatering,” he growled, low and possessive. His hand released my neck and slid down to the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine. My insides quivered at his touch, fragrant drops of dew pooling rapidly in the flimsy lace that guarded my mound from potential intruders.

“You wanted to see my ‘pretty little neck’,” I teased his earlier arrogance, lifting my skirt to traverse the steps leading inside, “I thought I’d frame her for you, give her the spotlight.”

August cocked an eyebrow at me in amusement, sensing my challenge. His fingers dug into my hip a little harder than necessary as he guided me through the establishment with nothing more than a nod to the hostesses. Apparent jealousy marred the face of one, and I thought I saw a hint of worry on the other. We were gone before the emotion could register in my mind.

I was escorted to a private booth in the upstairs of the establishment. While the first floor was crowded and full of people, the second floor was empty; August had requested it for our use alone. I could hear the hum of nightlife below, the haunting, non-lyrical melody of a soft alto wafting over the balcony as we walked past, the whispered promise of an enchanting night. A few tables and chairs were strategically placed on the floor, hugged by back-to-back rounded booths on either wall. Light ethereal curtains hung on either side of them, offering privacy from the guests who would typically sit in the next box over. August led me to the corner booth nearest the balcony so that we could look upon the stage if we chose.

“Our table, milady,” he joked, leaving a wet kiss on the back of my hand. Though the charade was seemingly in jest, it could not have been farther from it. His piercing eyes never left mine and I gasped at the feel of his brazen tongue on my skin. The suggestion of what he could do with it hung thick in his gaze, lacing the air with the succulent first tendrils of decadent tension. Playing along, I took a sharp breath and curtsied. I stayed low as August stood to show him the appeal of my figure at this angle, tilting just my head to look up at him. He stood there, head held high like a king, and the smile I received at my display was downright sinful.

“What a treat you are,” he murmured, cupping my chin briefly. My breasts swelled as I stood, consenting August the claim to chivalry by way of settling me into the alcove. He swept my hair over my shoulder again, trailing a single finger down my neck in admiration before taking his own seat. My insides were nothing but a pile of kindling, and every touch he gave was a spark that threatened to ignite the dry leaves into a burning flame of need.

The courses came and went just like those moments, every phrase emphasized with physical intimacy of some kind, whether it be just a gossamer brush of his fingers on my ear or an intentional grasping of my hand. He went as far as to boldly stroke the back of his knuckle along my cleavage, making me dizzy with desire. Each touch was avaricious—like he owned me—and I had zero qualms about letting him.

We ate our fill, but August made no move to leave the comfort of our small corner. With the noise of people below dulled by the far reaches of our seclusion, it was easy to converse. I told him more about my master thesis and the Pijavica, how they could read minds and enjoyed the power of persuasion, how they were impervious to all but decapitation, and how only their offspring could kill them. He listened intently, sharing tales of his own career. It was how I discovered that he was a doctor.

“I don’t practice anymore though, I prefer to study and learn. Specifically, I’m attracted to tears.”

“Tears?” That struck me as odd; it wasn’t often you came across someone who had such a unique field of study. “Why tears?”

August swirled the whiskey in his glass and downed it abruptly. He subtly indicated to our attendant for another before continuing his explanation.

“I’ve always had a fascination for the small things, things that people don’t seem to think matter; the mind-body connection, you know? For example,” he brushed a thumb over my cheekbone, “Did you know that the cellular structure of tears looks different based on the type of tear?”

August cupped my neck with both of his hands, tilting my head this way and that, his calm features set in measured focus as he spoke.

“Basal, reflexive, emotional... they all look different.”

I closed my eyes, letting him caress my skin. August’s touch was intoxicating, addicting. Even his scent was an aphrodisiac to my senses. I couldn’t get enough of it, lured ever closer to his sturdy frame, letting him manipulate my body how he saw fit. He nuzzled my hair, his soft spoken words dripping with lust into my ear.

“In fact,” he went on, “Even among those categories they differ, dependent on the stimuli.”

I could feel his breath on my neck, his lips surrounding the pulsepoint in my veins as he spoke, my jaw his destination. A hand snuck under my skirt, skimming along my trembling skin toward the seeping treasure that awaited him at the end of his journey. I spread my legs willingly, inviting him into my deepest of secrets. August hummed as he went on, sending spirals of tingling vibrations through my chest.

“The sting of onions, the sadness of grief… the satisfaction of overwhelming pleasure.”

“August…” I breathed, but my voice was severed as August simultaneously laid claim to my mouth and my womb. Thick fingers penetrated me in the same moment as his probing tongue, and it was in that moment I knew I was lost; August Walker could pull everything from me and I wouldn’t care; I’d want it, need it. He had spent all night teasing me, testing me, manipulating me and filling me with nothing but a desire for more, leaving me empty and wanting. He had succeeded, I now craved him above all else in this world.

August lifted my skirts, hoisting me with little effort to straddle his lap and I cried out in shock. The sound of my sudden impalement on the thick steel of his manhood was camouflaged by the crowd of people below; no one heard the echo of carnal awakening that sang through the air. When had he undressed? I bit my lip as he sank deeper into my core until the salty bitterness of copper and iron stung my chin. August’s eyes fell to the red droplet, darkening until the only color left in his pale irises was the very absence of light. With a hideous growl he ravaged my mouth, tasting every inch of my bruised lips with the hunger of an animal that’s been caged for far too long.

Thrill and terror tangled themselves in my mind, weaving an intricate web of wanton desire inside of me as August took me right there in the booth. Time itself seemed to halt, the room disappeared. Were we still in the club? Was it still the dead of night? Did I still require oxygen to breathe? Or was my life source now August’s touch, the light in my very soul dependent upon his kiss?

I didn’t notice when we left, nor when we arrived at a house that overlooked the city. I didn’t notice the lock on the basement door, or the fresh garden in the yard. I didn’t notice the continual rising and setting of the sun. I didn’t notice when I grew hungry, nor when I grew tired. I didn’t notice, not anything but passion, need, and desperation.

I didn’t notice.

Sleep drained from my limbs slowly. I awoke to black silk caressing my skin, dim sunlight shining through the wall, diffused by a covering of clouds that hung in the sky. It confused me that it was coming through the entire wall, until I realized that said wall was simply one large window, and the room I found myself in was built into the rock of an obsidian cliff overlooking the city. The room was minimally decorated in dark tones that coordinated with the nature outside, save for a striking, golden painting of a woman crying on the far wall. I clearly wasn’t home, and last night’s events slowly returned to the forefront of my mind.

August.

August was, without a doubt, the most attentive lover I’d ever had. Memories of his lips, his scent, his god-like physique that was surely carved from marble entertained my thoughts, returning my mind to the pleasure I’d never experienced in my life. Chills ran up and down my skin, alighting in wonder as my hand drifted to my sex. My fingers found my petals, swollen from overuse, aching in the dull agony of satisfaction. I stroked them gently, soothing the pleasant tenderness, moaning softly as the blood rushed to swell my clit once more, my other hand slipping beneath the silk to join in the heavenly edging torment.

A sharp, sudden sting at the brush of my inner thigh caused me to cry out, my hands snatching away from their play. I sat up, peering beneath the sheets to discover a semi-circle of divots cut into my leg. Is that a… a bite mark? I pulled at the skin and felt the dried blood crack, a small pinprick of new red seeping through the scab. I lunged from the bed to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and look for other signs or markings, but what I found made me gasp.

Bruises peppered my neck, chest, hips and thighs. A few other crescents were scattered amongst them, standing out against the dark patches that shaded my skin. I took a physical inventory then, feeling the soreness in my jaw from being stretched by his cock, the ache of my neck from having my hair pulled, the shaky feeling of muscular fatigue in my legs from being tensed by orgasm after orgasm. I thought I detected a slight sheen on my skin, but I couldn’t tell if that was from the tremulous bliss of a satisfying fuck, or if it was the sweat and oil caused by said satisfying fuck. Either way, I looked happy and content. I grabbed August’s dress shirt from the floor and threw it on as I left the room to explore.

The bedroom led to a hallway, the wall to my left still nothing but expansive glass that showed off the impressive view. On the other side were large, black and white abstract prints, hung evenly spaced against dark panels. To the left of each was a shadow box with an ornate glass vial inside; each bottle was thin, no longer than my palm and differing in design from the others. Tiny, intricate patterns were painted on the outsides in white, blue, and gold, and gold stoppers sealed each one. When I entered the main room, I discovered a curio cabinet that housed at least a hundred of them, and I leaned in to look at how varied each one was.

“Victorian tear catchers,” August’s voice was suddenly behind me and I whirled sharply, startled. He chuckled at my alarm and I laughed with him, enjoying that glorious sound.

“They’re beautiful,” I murmured, turning back to look at the delicate glass. August pulled me against his naked chest, nosing my hair and kissing my neck.

“Yes you are,” he whispered, earning an eye roll from me. August chuckled and opened the cabinet.

“Would you like one?”

“Really?”

I looked at him, stunned. He simply nodded his head in the direction of the vials and I examined them, selecting one that had a white pattern on it that looked like lace.

“Mmm, a good choice. Perhaps I can collect tears of ecstasy for you,” August whispered. The thrill of what he was implying awakened my senses, and I let him lead us slowly back toward the bedroom. I felt like teasing him, so I delayed a bit by asking about the art on the wall.

“What are those?” I pointed to the first print, a cross-hatching pattern that looked like it was made of sewing pins.

“Those are tears of grief,” he stated, stopping in front of each as he walked me gradually down the hall.

“A yawn,” he said of the next, a white background with dark, fern-looking splatters. August traced his mouth along my jaw, his hand dipping beneath the button of his shirt to play with the sensitive nipples he had rediscovered. I keened as he continued shifting us toward the kitchen, struggling to keep my composure. The next print was a much darker gray, and it looked like it was covered in snowflakes.

“Any guesses?” August asked, mouthing my earlobe in tandem with the flick of his thumbs over my hardened nubs. I whimpered, my knees weak in his lustful embrace.

“Uhm… cold air?” I rasped as he sucked on my neck. August chuckled through his nose, the vibrations of his voice rippling through my chest to connect with his teasing fingers.

“Onions.”

“Yeah okay.”

I tilted my head so that I could kiss him, but suddenly the thought of onions turned my stomach. I lurched, pulling away and gagging slightly. Instead of concern, August smiled knowingly, seemingly unbothered by my retching.

“I see morning sickness has set in. It’s a little early and I had hoped you’d be able to avoid it, but alas, that’s not the case.”

My head swam suddenly, confusion mutilating all thought. I backed away from him.

“Morning what? What are you talking about?”

August took a step toward me, placing a hand on my belly and lacing his fingers in the hair at my nape.

“Women always taste better after they’ve conceived. And I can keep them longer; they make much more blood when they’re host to a fetus.”

I pushed against him, turning away and vainly attempting to process his words. Pregnant? Taste better? Blood? My eyes focused on a card I hadn’t noticed earlier in the shadow box, a single word printed on it.

Bridgette

“Isn’t it ironic,” August mused, tracing my collarbone with a thick finger, “That five weeks ago, you had a chance encounter with the very thing you’ve been studying for months, and now you carry his child.”

The room spun. I couldn’t think; my brain refused to process the nonsense he spoke.

“Five—five weeks?! No that’s not possible, our date was last night!”

“It’s more than possible, sweet morsel. Think about it.”

Bile rose thick and acrid in my throat then, threatening to spill. Memories and time started filtering into my mind, replacing the fog with everything I’d lost. The last puzzle piece clicked into place, confusion all but disappeared and I was left with nothing but the cold, terrifying truth. Pijavica. Vampire. Monster.

I’d fallen into the clutches of a monster.

I did the only thing I could think of; I slapped him as hard as I could and took off through the house, ignoring the sharp pain of a chunk of hair remaining in his hand. My heart pounded in my chest, desperate to be free of this sudden nightmare. I slammed into the front door and grabbed the handle, a strangled sob catching in my throat when it wouldn’t open.

I rattled the door knob, panic consuming every fiber of my being. Suddenly, it wasn’t just my life I was fighting for; apparently there was a life inside of me that needed protecting. The child of a Pijavica that was depending on me to escape, so that he could come back and kill his father. I have to get out. I gave up on the door in anger, spinning around and looking for another way.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

I heard August’s voice again, but he was nowhere to be seen. His voice came louder, penetrating my mind. I have to keep moving.

“It was because of your name; they match your eyes.”

I whimpered at his words, sneaking my head around a corner to survey the living space for some form of an exit.

“Amber has a historical application, you see,” he went on, louder. I dashed over the floor, desperate to be gone from him. Door after door remained locked, and my terror grew with each attempt. Every now and then I could hear August, whether it be a rustle of fabric or the knock of his foot on the wooden floor. The scholar in me knew that it was on purpose, that he was luring his prey, giving chase to his food, and yet my rational mind refused to take charge. I was being led by my flight response, and his jarring monologue wasn’t helping.

“Throughout history, whenever a goddess cried it was typically tears of amber, save for the goddess Freya, who cried gold. You met her in the bedroom.”

His laughter echoed through the dark walls of his lair, and chilled me to my core. It was no longer a beautiful sound, but grating and horrible. I was nothing but a petty human to play with, some toy that he could eat when he tired of me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I came to the last door. Dear God, please let this one open. To my utter relief, the door swung wide and I was met with stairs. Stairs went down, and we were on a cliff. Down was good. Down meant freedom.

I clambered down the steps and flung open the door at the bottom, stumbling into the room and falling to the floor in horror and fear. There in front of me, was nothing but mirrors. A maze of mirrors, each one showing me my trembling features, mocking me, letting me know just how fucked I was. I turned back, intending to go back up the stairs and try another way, but August’s silhouette stood at the top, preventing me from going back into the house. I heard a scream and realized it was my own.

Scrambling off the floor, I took off into the maze, blinded by my tears.

“Each of those girls made it this far you know,” August taunted. I heard the slam of the door and nearly choked as I ran. “You’ll die in this room, just like they did.”

His nonchalance, his continual unconcern about chasing me, his arrogance that he would no doubt catch me made me so angry. I raced from path to path, growing ever more frantic every time I reached a dead end. I didn’t even know if this room had an exit, I just knew I had to keep moving. I tripped over something as I rounded a corner, screaming when I saw what it was.

“I see you found Bridgette,” August chuckled, and I looked up from the skeleton to see his hideous face marred with a sinful sneer. I gasped and took off again, turning this way and that. Hitting another dead end, I doubled back and ran smack into August’s broad torso. He caught me and held me close as I screamed, ripping his shirt from my body. He spun me around, pinning my wrists between my back and his belly, trailing his fingers languidly over my naked frame in an inspection of his handiwork. My jaw was gripped in an iron vice and August forced my gaze to the mirror.

“Do you see what I see?” he mocked. I could only stare in horror, for nothing but my own terrified expression stared back at me.

August had no reflection.

“Out of all the patterns in the world, do you know which tears are my favorite?” August continued to torment. He inhaled my hair deeply, snaking his tongue along the length of my cheek, tasting the stains my tears had left in their wake.

“Fear.”

I heard August growl as I fought against him, his iron grasp caging me against his cool skin, more of the cursed moisture pooling in my eyes. Glassy drops fell, retracing a new path toward my chin but August just kissed them away, shoving me to the floor when my knees buckled of their own accord. He let go of my hands to fidget with his slacks, pulling me back toward him every time I tried to crawl away as a parent would to a petulant child. On the third attempt he snapped my knee, a scream tearing from my throat in my woeful submission to his desire.

Finally free of his clothes, August lifted my hips, lining his rigid cock up against my sweat-soaked folds. He dove into my treasure without care, forcing his way into the depths of my belly, stretching and tearing my walls until he was fully sheathed. Strong arms wrapped around me again, and I felt two sharp points prick the junction of my neck and shoulder. I cried out and thrashed in fierce protest, knowing that small pinch was just a warning of oncoming pain.

August’s teeth punctured my skin easily, shredding muscle and sinew until they hit bone. I howled in pain as I watched blood drip from the wound, a familiar crescent shape joining its brothers on my body. Searing heat shot through my neck with his first draw of thick plasma; the violent removal of blood causing an intense burn that I felt all the way down to my injured leg. August released my neck and I clapped a hand over the fresh wound.

I looked over my shoulder at him; his head was tilted down, mouth still full of my blood; the lack of a reflection behind him unsettling to my senses. August opened his wicked maw slowly, dark scarlet trickling from his lips onto the junction where my hips met his, run through by his sword. He looked up at me with a nasty grin, bloodstained fangs curdling my stomach. I closed my eyes and turned away as he swiped a hand through the mess. His fingers penetrated my core alongside his cock, deaf to my sobbing objections.

“You’d better open your eyes, pet… This needy little cunt is dripping, I’d hate for you to miss it.”

August emphasized his sick joke by grasping my hair, shoving my head to the floor, forcing me to look once more into the polished glass. My desperate wails for mercy were all that kept me grounded as I watched him thrust, my battered hole be stretched beyond capacity. Nothing but empty space plundered my core, crimson air bruising the very place within me that only just last night had been treated with such tenderness and care. Not last night. His slick fingers found my mouth and violated it effortlessly; no amount of pressure I could apply would break through his tough skin.

“God, you look so beautiful.”

August pulled me up and took to my neck with fervor, latching onto the broken sliver of skin like a leech. The more he drank, the weaker I became, until there was no resistance left within me. I could see the color drain from my bloody face, I could see black slowly creep into my vision, but I was powerless to stop it. August was in charge, he held my entire existence in his hands, and he intended to extinguish it. I closed my eyes again, accepting my fate.

I was going to die.

One of my favorite places to visit is a small outdoor cafe, very near the coffee shop where I met Amber. Mmmm. Amber. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that tantalizing woman.

She lasted so much longer than all the others, you know. I was able to feed off of her nearly three full months as she hung there in my basement, until the last drop of her tantalizing nectar was finally extracted. She smelled of carraway and saffron, tasted of sweet mulled wine, and with the rich, heady, piquancy of her fertile womb seasoning each sinew, every inch of her opulent flesh begged to be consumed. I must admit, I should have dispatched of her sooner, but fascination overtook my curious mind as her own was consumed by insanity.

First it was freedom she asked for, and then death. Sometimes she would beg to speak to her mother one last time. But by the end, she only asked for one thing.

“Please,” she would whisper, “Please… Cover the mirrors. Just cover the mirrors.”

She asked so nicely, but how on earth could I hide such beauty? Her tears were just as rare, you see. They hold a beauty unmatched by any of the others that hang on my walls. I’ve never seen such a fear pattern like hers; it is more exquisite than the dawn of a misty spring day in the countryside, more beautiful than a woman at the height of euphoria. And they way they sparkled against her skin, lustrous tracks that wound down her temples and through her hair, glinting in the mirrors with each slow rotation of her inverted body... well, it was as if I was living among the stars. Adding her ashes to my garden was such a shame.

I sat at that little cafe, eyes closed, viewing the world through my enhanced scent. Each drop of bitter coffee, the pollen of a nearby bee, the oil in the bike chains of two clumsy humans as they rolled past; each note and fragrance alerting me to its owner. A familiar scent reached my nose and I turned my head sharply, focusing on it.

Carraway… Saffron.

I smiled softly, opening my eyes to greet the woman that now sat at my table. The honey irises that had intrigued me all those months ago met mine and I chuckled low.

“Amber.”

Read on AO3.

#august walker #august walker fanfic #august walker fan fiction #august walker fanfiction #august walker fan fic #august walker smut #vampire!august #non-con tw

177 notes · View notes

charmed-asylum · 4 years

Text

🐍 Envious Lover 🐍

Summary: With no where else to go Loki has only one last option to save his home and that you. What can worst then going to your ex, a goddess of gods.

Loki x Reader ( goddess)

Word count: 3,733

⚠️WARNING ⚠️: Goddess being everyone goals, Loki being a jealous sassy boy, Thor being his adorable self, sassy reader , goddess reader, I little of bow chicka wow wow, angst, and a lot more I can’t remember

A/N: I wrote this for the @finleyjayne rainbow writing challenge. I have dyslexia so if something wrong please tell me. This is also my first fanfic I have ever wrote. I had a lot of fun and I just gain more respect then I had before for fanfic writers. Thanks to @kity for pushing me to do it. Also thanks to @hellcaster901 @deceitfuldevout @linkispink1995 for being wonderful to me during this process ❤️ you guys. Alright enjoy and CONGRATULATIONS TO FIN for this wonderful achievement!!!!! ( also check out master list for some goodies)

Tagged: @alagalaska @linkispink1995 @deceitfuldevout @hellcaster901 @alias-b @opheliadawnwalker3

Divider by: @firefly-graphics

Master List

You stood tall like a stem of beauty. Your hair was glowing with a dark lust in the bright dying sun. You were a mystery. Your eyes were keepers of souls and secrets, and your voice was made of silky waves of desire. You were a siren and with one sound– even one as quiet as a whimper or soft moan– any man would be forevermore trapped in your grasp.

“Who, father, should I give a good night kiss for such a surprise? Cry of a tear as the lady finds such men without a breath,” you asked softly as you walked down the hallway covered in ivy. Loki rolled his eyes. He couldn’t deny you were the woman of his dreams. Unfortunately, he was also far too stubborn to ever admit this.

You were still bitter after the untimely death of your fiancé. You spent your days hosting high-end balls and festivities. You spent your nights playing with the hearts and passions of the endless stream of men begging to please you.

“Aren't you the whore of all things gold,” Loki said, his words laced with sweet venom.

“You know, when I was born of triumph at the end of all galaxies, my mother looked me dead in my eyes and told me that I was dangerous. Want to know why little boy?

“Oh please do tell me why, pet,” he said as he rolled his eyes. He was intrigued by you and the idea that you had a bit of a dark side only made him want you more, but of course, the god of mischief wouldn’t let you know that you had power over him.

“Because even though I may look like only possession or pet, I am more. So much more in fact that all gods come to me. They bow down to me, pray to me, and hope that I bestow my love onto them. Whenever there is no one left, I am their sole hope and their end. As they sleep at night in a room full of guards, they are unaware of how easily I could slip inside their room and slit their throat. How easily I could sink my teeth into their necks. How much I want to inject them with the green venom that drips from my painted lips. They have no idea how precarious their situation is whenever they are in my presence.” You said as you glared down at him.

“And do you kill them?” Loki asked as he cleared his throat. You smirked at him as you sensed his fear and attraction to you.

“Maybe one day you will know the answer to that question. Until then, all you need to know is this: I am not a whore of all things gold as you say. I am hope and peril all wrapped into one. I am an empress. You are in my kingdom. So act as such,” you said as you walked past him. Your head held high as you ambled into a garden full of gold and green.

He turned to follow you and tried to act as disinterested as he could, but the sway of your hips made him feel the blood rush to his face and other parts as well. With each step closer he could hear the loud boom of commotion. There was loud music drifting through the air. It was another party. Loki knew that while you basked in a lively and over the top way of life and love from admirers, it was all just a facade. That victorious smile and eyes that sparkled with grave darkness told him everything he needed to know. You were just like him: alone.

“You say such harsh words. Are you not going to enjoy such a garish party? What is the cause of the celebration today? Oh, I know! It must be that you got a brand new pair of shoes or a tiara maybe,” Loki said with a cocky smirk. He was trying to egg you on because if he can get you angry maybe you will reveal what he suspects to be behind that mask of yours.

You walked by a pond in the center of your garden and gently sat on a rock. Below you, your reflection looks back at you, judging you with a mirror of truth. Your long dainty fingers with gold claw-like nails dip a few fingers in it to disturb its image. He wondered if you had even cared enough to listen to his words.

“Do you know why I love this pond?” You asked, not waiting for an answer before you continue. “It has to do with the unpredictability and volatility of life. Everything can change. It only takes a second for the odds to flip to another’s favor, but this,” you looked up into his dark eyes. “It always remains the same.”

You took your hand out of the water, “You came for an alliance and my loyalty is with you, as always, but this time it can’t be against him,” you said and pointed at Thor, who was too busy playing with the snake in his hands to notice. You smiled at the gentle playfulness of this giant. Even with all he had been through and everything he still will endure he remained the same hopeful man as before.

“Isn’t she gorgeous? It was a present from your dear brother. It follows me as I go. Just like the one who gave it,” you said laying back with lust in your eyes. Loki licked his lips as you gave him a seductive wink. He took a deep breath as he tried to ignore the way that seeing you like this made him feel. You were flirtatious by nature, and you loved taunting and provoking men until they go mad.

“We come here in the hope that you assist us in fighting our dear long lost sister, Hela. Surprisingly, she’s more of a pest than you,” Loki said as he tried to gain back control and push you further away.

“Did you know that once your dear brother turned into a nasty green snake in order to scare off my suitors? He stopped when one of them tried to catch and cook him. After that he cried like a baby for hours,” you said with a smile.

“Oh, Thor. Do you mind giving me and Loki some time to talk? There’s ale and a huge feast inside. Do make yourself at home, love,” you said, your eyes not leaving Loki’s.

“Yes, my lady. Brother, I feel this lady can be the woman of your dreams and maybe make love by the fire on her bear fur rug in her chambers.” Thor said gently, putting the snake down. Loki’s face burns red as the embarrassment of him talking in his sleep and you find out what he dreams of is revealed.

“You idiot! You’re not supposed to repeat that out loud,” Loki hissed.

Even though your face remained neutral, you took enormous pleasure at this new revelation. Your mind returned to the sensual thoughts which you had had for years. You pushed your shoulders back and walked close to Loki and turned to whisper in his ear, “who knew red was such a beautiful color on you.”

You laughed as you watched Loki once again struggle to find words. You placed a small four-leaf clover behind his ear and gently placed your hand on his cheek. It had been so long since you last felt each other’s touch. After one touch it all came rushing back. All the long nights in the thrill of a secret affair. Loki's hands followed yours. Hands rough from many years of labor he went through wrapped tightly around yours.

“I’m sorry it took me so long, my dear. Things didn’t go to plan as I hoped. I thought of you every long night,” Loki said placing his lips to the back of your soft hand.

“I could tell you that you dress like a poser. You try too hard. Not like a king you are destined to be. Still, you gallop around making a joke of me. Playing pretend. I waited and had to be chosen as a bride you know,” you said in a deep tone. For such an innocent and gorgeous woman, any man or beast would be fearful if they ever tried to cross you. That in itself made him obsessed with you. His other hand dipped behind you and brought you closer to him.

“I know. You know your mine and still, you choose to always play with me. I may be the god of tricks but I don’t like it when I’m trick on. Sad that fool had an untimely death Huh” Loki said with eyes full of ideas.

Your eyes flutter a bit through your thick long lashes before biting Loki's finger. Giggling a bit you pull away and turn a few times, your gorgeous evening gown turning into a forest green cocktail dress.

“You made me shear tears. I promise you that won’t ever happen. If so I turn you into my plaything like that “you said snapping your finger before walking towards the party.

Mumbling under his breath he ran after you. Before you could step foot into the grand ballroom Loki turned you against the wall and held you tight. Those eyes turn darker than the midnight sky. Lips parted just for a before snapping back in place. Everything about him so addicting.

“Pouting and snapping your fingers doesn’t look so flattering on you. I’m done with this chat. You're a fool with tiny tricks, maybe you could do some for entertainment. Once you grow up then I shall speak to you only when you're being reasonable, Loki!” you said before storming off. That right there drove Loki over the edge. Even with all his tricks and harsh words you always cave in but not this time. You meant what you said. Even your eyes smile all used to be the brightest for him. No matter what you were always on his side. Maybe this world you create shape was more a prison than a simple paradise he first imagines.

Most of the night he couldn’t find you in the sea of people. Till he hears a familiar laugh echoing throughout the room. Rubbing his forehead he prays to high gods alike that he wasn’t embarrassing himself.

To his surprise, it was far from it. Thor stood in the center of attention telling stories lively of battle he played a role in. What made Loki's eye twitch just a little bit more was who Thor had to hug tight to his side but you. You laugh at the mimicry of everyone around you. As if you could feel his eyes on you playfully slap Thor peck before wiping a tear from his eye and feed him another green grape. Hand resting on his chest rubbing little circles laughing.

Loki had to think for a second each time you found someone or thing to replace him he would find ways to either manipulate them to leave or just got rid of them altogether. Could he do that to Thor? Hell yes with the pleasure she might take care of two problems once and for all. But he had more pain than you and his dear dopy brother.

“Oh, Loki. Sweetheart. Please come, your brother was just telling us of a green giant they call a Hulk and it's smashing you like a rag doll” you said into your glass of champagne.

Letting out a deep breath. He looks at the two very disappointed. “That beast is far too dangerous than most beasts you ever saw. You too would be a stump. Pet” Loki said with his arms cross over each other tapping his foot.

“I don’t know. What bolt here telling me isn’t so bad. Sounds cute” You said in a baby voice with a hand on your hip and a resting bitch face.

He glances around before grabbing a glass of green champagne and gulping it in one sit. They had no time to play. All this time could be spent figuring a way to save their land before it is too late. Throughout the night he watches as you gracefully walk around talking laughing ignoring him.

“Dear brother if my time on Earth has proven any knowledge besides they are helpless beings. This thing they call emotions. Lady Jane and my fellow teammates talk a great deal. Maybe if you say I’m sorry for whatever she will forgive you instead of demanding her and her attention solely on you” Thor said drinking some ale.

“Do I look like a lost puppy like you? I can do many things but to apologize to her when she should be but in my debt for me of all things but to fancy her. No, I -“ he stops when he sees you slip away from the party “will do that right now,” Loki said running off after you.

With a gentle touch of green smoke, you disappear before his eyes. Well, this wasn’t something he didn’t see coming. Hours he spent looking high and low far and near for you. Before he finally decides to give up he saw a dim light at the end of the emerald cover walls hallway. A familiar song melody dances in the air. The closer he got he could see your back through the crack in the door as you look at something in your hands.

“If you're going to lurk, at least be slick with it,” you said, your back still facing him.

“Wasn’t looking for you, more like a bathroom. For a fortress, there aren't many. I want to leave one last surprise for you” Loki said, leaning against the door, locking it.

You roll your eyes and walk by a gold satin curtain. A second later arriving from behind with a more revealing outfit. Loki's eyes nearly his socket when you face your backside towards him.

You comb your hair I’m in front of a mirror, “What Thor said earlier is that truth, do you wanna take me raw on my Kermode fur rug? You old kinkster” you look at him through the mirror while combing your luxuriant hair.

You said one thing, but your tone meant another. God how he wishes it didn’t work the way it did. From the innocent but deadly eyes to the way your hands play with your hair, to the way your mouth moves when you speak. God was he in trouble. But he needs you right now. Maybe it was more than he thought or wanted to admit.

Before he knew it you had gotten up and was standing chest to chest to him. Reaching close you look up in his piercing sad but serene eyes then glance to his moist lips. SLAP Loki curses under his breath as he looks at you glared into your eyes. Raising a finger he frowned a bit, “are you out your mind” he hissed. You shrugged your shoulder and smiled, bitting down on your gold frost nail.

“No, I am. I told you that rage and anger will get you nowhere. How dare y-” before you could finish your rant Loki grab you by the waist and shove his mouth onto yours.

Shock by this action you tumble back onto that so rub with him. Even as the pain rushed through your backside you didn’t care as you grabbed tight to his back clawing tight. Marking him. Your mouth dancing with his sucking the air out of one another. His hand slipping to the back and unclipping your green with a gold trimming bra. With his pale long fingers trail his hand from your waist up to cup you breast gently as he left bite marks onto your neck. A deep breathless moan came out as you grabbed onto his long black hair. Looking up to your eyes he smirks and starts to continue to attack your body with such pleasure. “How dare you make me have to come back and you go flaunt yourself around. I thought we both knew your mine and not one else” he said biting down right below your left boob.

“Fuck Loki shut up for once and continue what you're doing. You never officially told me I was yours as you left me behind. So....S...Stop your whinnying” you said pulling him closer to you and bit his neck.

“But you’re wrong before I left I gave you that ring on your finger. Love and that means your mines, not your idiotic ex and most definitely not goodie two shoe brother, Thor’s” Loki said in a scathing tone.

One hand grips tightly around your neck as the other gently grabs some fat off your thigh. Your body curves into his touch begging for more. Each breath was shorter than the last sweat dripping down his forehead. And right as Loki ripped off your thong, you pushed yourself so that you were on top straddling his lap gazing down at him. A huge grin appeared as you grab both hands and move them above his head, your hips rocking back and forth as you kiss him, each one pulling more and more force with it. Instead of moans and curse words, you giggle softly.

“Say it. Say what I want to hear and I’m yours no more games tricks and lies. Say it and this thing you're so proud of would be more than costume jewelry. I will be yours forever and I would stand by you as you become victorious my true king” You hissed. His eyes darkened as he watched you continue to attack him with each hump. Stars of the night started to fulfill his vision and he could see green mist cover the ceiling. Before he could say anything else a cruel comment or a backhanded compliment he shouts out your name. So loud even those in your party could hear it. Thor looks around and smiles into his cup knowing that once the act is done not only would he be in favor of his dear grumpy brother but owe many thanks to you.

Loki looks up to you from the floor both of you basking in such glory after hours of nonstop pleasure. Turning onto his side he leaned his hand on his head and watch you, sitting at your vanity table. You were rubbing lotion with gold leads onto your smooth skin. What he imagines and what happened was way beyond his dreams. Even he has to admit maybe leaving you so long ago was a bad mistake. One he hopes to never do again.

With that, he decided it was the time of being a fool, and once again the man the king loves to hear you say he is.

“My love stopped what you are doing and looked at me. I have something far more important than that” he said taking your tiny hands into his. You look at him with such awe and desire.

“I am not one to say such words or to admit such things. I grew up in this world alone feeling like I was more a burden than a child. With all this, I grew darker as tar. My heart was cold as ice. Even with that, you love me. Even when I’m thrown down and laughed at, you show over and over your loyalty. For so long I thought it didn’t matter. Hell-bent to not cave into their ways. But as I made my journey to that world my brother fell so in love with, I then realized my mistake. I thought if I can be a ruler of one world alone. Worried you won't see me as fit as your husband. Instead, I was lonely and felt deep into the darkness you are so gracious to help me from. I even miss the friendly banter I and my brother have a share. In all I’m sorry. You're not only my pet but my queen. And I hope you huh show you for the rest of my days” Loki said onto his knees pleading.

Coming close you place a gentle kiss him on the lips. Looking up with a huge smile. Finally hearing the words you've wanted to hear for centuries. Loki took your ring and moved it to the wedding finger and picked you up. Your arms wrap tight around his neck pepper kissing him giggling like a little child.

“Loki you silly slick snake. I made up my mind I was coming with you the second you step foot onto my land. This world has been lonely and parties are no fun without you. And I hate that sister of yours and would love to see her eyes as she takes her last breath. And while your dear brother is busy with her we can plan to take over. Once and for all. With you finally king and me by your side as queen. Now let me go so I can collect my prize from Thor. And we can be on our way” you said with a wicked grin on your face.

“YOU WHAT!”Loki said, stunned but also turned on by the trick you played on him.

Touching his cheeks she nodded yes.

“Thor and I had a bet. After he asks me to be a part of this club of yours revengers. He thought as a stubborn prince you would last longer and I said within the hour. I will always know you better than you do yourself” you said pitching him cheek a little.

Shock not only did you trick him but you got his brother enlisted as well with your plan.

“I can’t believe you got me. You naughty pet you. I should punish you for this or maybe I will reward you” Loki said.

Getting up you waltz across the room to the bathroom and turn, “Oh dear prince. Let us take care of this pest problem then you can do with me as you please.” You blow him a kiss and a flirtatious wink before disappearing into the bathroom.

He always thought his true home was Asgard but it was you.

255 notes · View notes

playing--koi · 4 years

Text

Creatures Alike

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Rating: 18+

Warning(s): SMUT, brief mentions of violence and torture, brief mentions of blood and injury, swearing, unprotected sex (y’all this is a mythical world, but stds are very real here so keep that shit locked up)

Summary: A mysterious Witcher saves you from criminal sacrifice and quite a grim background of servitude and torture. Since he’s decided to nurse you back to health and treat you with compassion, you’ve felt something awaken inside of you for the first time in your bleak life.

Word Count: 5.7k

MASTERLIST

The coarse bark of the tree trunk pressed painfully into the skin of your back. You weren’t sure if the liquid you felt soaking through your rags was that of sweat or blood. The hot, sticky air of the forest was palpable and, if you weren’t otherwise occupied with being tied to a tree, no doubt the heat would’ve instead been the subject of your complaints.

So how had you ended up tied to a tree? Simple. You were a criminal, ostracized and locked away; a long life of torture awaiting you for the murder of your village’s king. However, you didn’t regret it. Hell, you’d practically give anything to go back in time and do it all over again, savoring the vision of that vile man’s blood that glistened upon your dagger.

He got exactly what he’d deserved and you’d sworn to every high priestess sent to talk to the “daughter of Lilit” that you’d never repent. As far as you knew, you had no relation to the demon goddess of the night, intent on exterminating the human race; though you decided you’d lean into it. It was easier to claim Lilit’s likeness than to relive the horrors that you’d experienced at the hands of that man.

You were an orphan that’d been left on the doorstep of the king one night. It quickly became the subject of town gossip because your ears showed that of elven heritage. Not fully, but certainly enough to be recognized. Against all suggestion from his council, he decided to take you in to one day become a servant girl. The village ate that garbage up from the palm of his unscathed, perfectly manicured hands; woes of his “kind, gentle spirit” and “innate care for all creatures, no matter how disgusting”.

It made you sick. He made you sick. With his creative list of unthinkable punishments that he saved for only you. The halfblooded elf who was used as an outlet for his rage. His council knew, his family knew, neighboring royals knew. And no one batted an eye. If it kept their king happy, drain the elf’s blood.

So it shouldn’t have been a surprise when you killed him. But evidently it was. There was talks of hanging you, burning you at the stake, stoning you to death; frankly, you’d lost track of the plethora of capital suggestions. Everyone cried of how ungrateful you were. That he’d accept one of your kind just to be murdered for his generosity. It almost made you laugh that these people were so busy sneering at you over a man that they only pretended to know the first thing about. In their minds, the honorable king would never lay a finger on an innocent creature, but oh, how wrong they were.

And now here you were. In the stead of public execution, you were now being offered as a sacrifice to the griffin that had been terrorizing the village. You’re pretty sure that everyone knew one lousy meal wouldn’t do anything to quench the abomination’s blood-thirst, but everyone was excited by the idea of a painful, terrifying, and gruesome death for a criminal such as yourself. Well, fuck them too.

You weren’t quite sure why they’d tied you up in the forest, considering griffins mostly traveled by flight, making it nearly impossible to see you hidden within the tree tops and thick foliage. Either you’d die by some miracle of the griffin finding you or perhaps another horrid creature, starvation, dehydration, or bandits. So many options, lucky you.

Lightheaded due to exhaustion and overheating, you couldn’t tell if you were imagining the noises that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. After years of mental torture and loneliness, you were more than aware of your mind’s ability to hallucinate quite grand things. Like that one time you’d managed to have an entire argument with your dinner rations. And you weren’t even sure if you’d won.

However you couldn’t imagine that your own mind would be able to conjure up the noise that you’d just heard. A growl so menacing and threatening, you were sure this was your end. And you hadn’t even seen the beast yet. You’d been through a lot, so you were not usually convinced that you wouldn’t survive something because, after so many days spent begging not to, you still prevailed. But this might actually be it.

And then you saw it. After many tales of such a beast; paintings, sonnets, songs, epic novels: a griffin. It was huge, grotesque, and sinister. Its face looked permanently smug as it traipsed in and out of your vision through openings. And it was on foot; how peculiar. But the closer you looked, the easier it was to see that it was injured. With a trail of blood closely following it, you concluded that it must’ve been its wings because, had it been another extremity, it probably wouldn’t have been walking as easily as it was.

But what creature would attack something so massive and menacing?

You kept your breaths as silent as possible, remaining as still as you could. You weren’t sure how good its hearing was. You didn’t really know much about griffins. You didn’t really know much about anything, to be honest. Spending most of your life hidden from the world certainly did an excellent job of also hiding the world from you. Whenever you could sneak a book from the king’s library, you would, but any of his more riveting, knowledgable ones were kept very far from your reach.

It was now far darker than it had been just a few minutes before, so you prayed to the gods that it wouldn’t see you. Seeming to be wandering aimlessly, the creature’s steps were slow and heavy before it made a sort of bedding with the surrounding leaves and curled up—as much as such a large body could “curl”—and began to snore.

Great, I pray to the gods for safety and instead they send a griffin to my exact location where it falls asleep, no doubt ready to maul me the moment I make an inkling of a sound. What a fucking joke.

Before you can agonize for too much longer, you see a flash of white in your peripheral vision and you whip your neck to face it. You see a man. A very large, very intimidating man with long white hair and dressed head to toe in black. He had weapons sheathed on his back and moved with a swiftness of someone who really knew how to use them. And he appeared to be purposely moving closer to the griffin. Oh no. He was going to wake it up and you were both going to die.

Well, he was just speeding up the inevitable. So you decided to watch. At least enjoy some entertainment in your last moments.

You couldn’t help but notice his pure beauty and the rugged nature of it. He was a daunting presence, one of indisputable importance and humble pride. He moved like both the lion and the gazelle; he was a contradiction, both gentle and dangerous. Reckless yet careful. Gods, he was approaching a griffin, yet it seemed to be just a daily occurrence for him. Maybe you both were going to live if his stature was anything to go by.

He was then standing over the sleeping body of the griffin, unsheathing his sword with delicacy so as not to awaken the beast. And without a sliver of hesitation, he chopped the overgrown bird’s head cleanly off its shoulders.

You gasped without a thought and he quickly searched the darkness for the source of the noise and you could feel the blood drain from your face. Sure, he’d saved you from the imminent danger, but what if he was the new imminent danger? A man that confident and sly couldn’t be underestimated by a prisoner tied to a tree.

In the dark of the night, you could make out his eyes just as they found you. His brows furrowed, no doubt confused by your predicament. You couldn’t imagine it was a common occurrence to find a woman tied to a tree in the middle of a forest right after killing a griffin. He slowly began to inch closer to you before he was only a few footsteps away.

You could now make out the rich amber of his eyes as they scanned your…dilemma. His face was nothing short of perfect— sculpted by the delicate fingers of the gods—and mauled ever since by the cruelty he’d clearly faced on the continent. His face was dirty and battered, like he’d picked a pub brawl with the wrong gang of thugs. But after seeing the cool and collected way he slayed that animal, you couldn’t imagine him losing any fight.

And then he spoke. A deep rumble that sounded harsh to unprepared ears. His voice was that of smoke; thick and mysterious—throaty and coarse. It awoke something primal in you that’d been stifled perhaps your entire life. So much so that you’d forgotten to listen to what he’d actually said.

“Ma’am?” He inquired, clearly trying to get your attention. Little did he know he had it undivided.

Your curiosity got the better of you and you couldn’t resist.

“Who are you?” You wondered aloud, your voice remaining constant in such a threatening situation. Due to the trials of your life, it’d been a long time since you feared death.

“Geralt,” he grumbled. Well, it didn’t exactly cover the complexities of your question, but it was a start.

“Are you going to kill me, Geralt?”

He grunted in response, but you could swear you saw a hint of amusement in his eyes. He pulled the sword from its place hilted on his shoulder and you closed your eyes to brace for impact, but instead of an untimely demise, you simply felt your balance slipping as the rope was no longer holding you up straight.

Before you could land face-first on the forest floor, you could feel a forearm reach out and catch you around the waist. Upon opening your eyes, you could see that you were angled toward the ground and, had this peculiar man not reached his hand out and almost effortlessly stopped your downfall, you’d have had a mouthful of twigs.

He pulled you back up straight and, after no longer feeling your need for his support, he left you to stand on your own—though he watched you like a mare would her foal. Making sure you didn’t immediately go topsy-turvy. The absence of his warmth around your belly was somehow even more uncomfortable than the sweltering heat. You couldn’t even begin to think how sweaty he was under all of that black leather. What you’d give to get him out of it.

You tried to physically shake the thoughts from your head.

“May I ask why you were tied to a tree?” He questioned, sizing you up, almost as if he was guessing what the reason could be himself.

“My village is convinced that I’m the daughter of Lilit, so they left me as a human sacrifice for that griffin,” you pointed to the recently-slain beast.

He raised his eyebrows at your confession. “So you’re the servant girl who murdered the king,” his eyes narrowed as he continued, “I’ve heard talk of you. You’re not exactly spoken about favorably, considering you killed one of the continent’s most well-regarded rulers,”.

You felt a pang in your chest. You were so sick of the assumptions that everyone made about you. How you were a no-good, selfish, bloodthirsty elf. Always defending yourself from people who would never know the truth. Well, if that’s what they all thought, there was no use trying to change their minds.

“That would be me.” You sneered, “Probably should’ve just left me to die, huh?” You pushed past him, stomping away from your beautiful savior. Even a mysteriously handsome man saving your life couldn’t be a source of happiness.

However you didn’t exactly have time to dwell on it too much before your vision blurred and you could feel your body giving out. You were dehydrated, overheated, starved, and possibly bleeding. When was luck ever on your side?

You crumpled to the ground, a deafening ring reverberating through your head. Your body ached as your mind blanked. You didn’t even notice that you were now being moved. Your eyes grew heavier, heavier, heavier.

There you were, back in the basement of the castle. Drenched in your own blood, the color a more muted red as it mixed with that of your sweat. Your ankle was raw from where the shackle was tightly bound to it, dirt and grime seeping within the cut.

You couldn’t possibly be back here, you’d killed him. He was supposed to be gone. But the sounds of his boots thundering down the stairs alerted you that it was far from over.

You startled awake, gasping for air. In a fit of panic, you jumped up from the makeshift bed you’d been asleep on, frantically searching the room for an explanation. You quickly came to the conclusion that you’d found yourself within an abandoned cottage of sorts. And you were not alone.

Geralt studied you with a confused intensity. His brows were furrowed as he sat in a chair that was situated next to the bed you’d been asleep in. An opened book was settled on his lap.

Your eyes drifted from him and instead looked down at your own body and saw that several areas had been bandaged, including places that you hadn’t even known to be injured.

“Clearly they’re not too kind to prisoners in your village,” He stated after seeing that you’d been studying your own wounds.

“Why did you help me?” You questioned.

He cocked his head to the side, confused by your response. He probably expected some sort of gratitude in your words instead of the cautious interrogation that he was now being met with.

“You said it yourself, I’m a murderer,” you pushed further, “so why did you help me?” You gritted your teeth, the pain throbbing in your head did nothing to assuage the rage you felt at his dismissal of you upon your first meeting.

He inhaled deeply before answering your question. “I was originally going to take you back to your village along with the griffin’s head in hopes of some sort of…compensation,” you rolled your eyes at his honesty, “but when I examined your wounds further, I didn’t think you would live through the journey without some proper treatment.” He answered frankly.

“So your plan is to heal me and then turn me in?” You scoffed.

“Originally, yes. However, the more I’ve studied you, the more curious I’ve become.” He set the book on the ground and crossed his legs, leaning further back in the chair. Even from across the room, you could feel that the probing was about to begin. “Their stories don’t really align with what I’ve seen from you. What do you have to fear? Your village speaks as if they’re terrified of you. All anyone seems to call you is the daughter of Lilit, the elf with no soul—so what would you have to be afraid of?”

You sputtered out a laugh at the sheer irony of it all. What did you have to be afraid of? What a laughable question. What didn’t you have to be afraid of?

He stood from his seat and started to walk around the bed toward you and your body reacted before your mind even had time to register. You flinched, moving to protect all vital organs from the beating you felt to be inevitable. Your eyes were squeezed shut so tightly, spots were collecting within your darkened vision. Time stood still as you waited for the assault, but you couldn’t even hear his footsteps getting closer.

You slowly opened your eyes and moved your face from where it was tucked into your elbow. You saw Geralt standing there, his hands up in surrender as he looked at you with the mildest bit of sorrow.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he conceded, speaking in a way one might to a frightened animal, “It was unfair of me to pass judgment on you after our first meeting. Humans do it to my kind all the time and I know better than anyone how frustrating it can be,”.

“Your kind?” Your brows furrowed.

“I’m a Witcher,”.

Your eyes widened, remembering the stories you’d snuck from the library stacks about Witchers and their superhuman amounts of power used to defeat monsters across the continent. “You’re a Witcher?” You whispered, curiosity dripping from your voice. You were desperate to hear the tales of someone so well-traveled and brave.

“That’s enough about me, little elf.” He took a step closer to you. You narrowed your eyes at the nickname, but let it go quickly; it sounded more like a term of endearment than anything else. “Now sit back down on the bed, so I can redress your wounds. All of this excitement seems to have reopened a few cuts,” You obeyed, no longer preoccupied enough to ignore the pain.

He crouched down in front of where you were seated and moved to lift up one of your pant legs in order to check on the dressings. He continued this on your arms and legs for quite a while, very meticulous in his work to insure you didn’t walk away with any infections. It was then time to look at your back, the part you’d been dreading.

Sure, you knew he’d already seen it, but your back was covered fully in scars from your years of servitude. It was unsightly and you hated the reminders.

You faced the other direction, so you were now looking away from him. You carefully removed your old, tethered shirt. You used the raggedy material to shield any sight of your breasts, although you knew he couldn’t see them from his place behind you. He began to untie the cloth and remove the bandaging, goosebumps arising wherever you felt the ghost of his touch. Grabbing a damp rag, he started to clean the gashes that littered your back. You attempted not to hiss in pain, but it failed fairly quickly.

He slathered ointment onto your burning skin, lightly massaging it into the wounds of your back, making sure to take extra care of the areas that were especially banged up. This was all so foreign to you; these hands that held you with a gentle touch. Someone alleviating your pain instead of adding to it. You sighed in contentment at the sheer pleasure of another’s hands, especially those belonging to such a beautiful specimen, however pointedly you tried ignoring that fact.

Far too soon, the caress was replaced with more bandages and gauze. You were left internally whining at the loss of Geralt’s closeness. Before you went to put your same shirt back on, he tossed you one in far better condition that he must’ve found in the cottage.

You were fighting sleep, eager to spend more time in his presence. It was so soothing to you in a way that nothing else had ever been. He took one look at you, no doubt seeing your internal fight to stay awake. “Rest up, little elf,” he insisted, “I’ll still be here when you wake up,”.

And with that, you gave yourself permission to sleep.

You’d been trapped in the cottage with Geralt for roughly three days at this point, practically vibrating out of your own skin at the temptations you’d had to sit through. With Geralt constantly tending to you, the little amount of privacy the cottage offered, and having to bear witness to his perfectly crafted body, freshly soaked from his baths; a new side of you had suddenly awakened.

He captivated you. Your eyes followed him every moment you could get away with it. You certainly weren’t covert about it either. The feelings were just so new and profound that you were honestly just excited to be feeling them at all. Any common activity could become entertaining so long as Geralt was the one performing it.

You were entranced by his unexpected tenderness. He would sometimes sneak out at night to check on Roach when he thought you were asleep, making sure that nothing in the surrounding wood had agitated the horse. While his skills helped you to feel protected, his morality was what made you really trust him. He could’ve easily brought you back to your village, gotten a hefty sum, and been on his way. Hell, it wasn’t like you’d claimed innocence in the first place.

But no, instead he’d decided to offer you medical care using his own supplies, give you most of his hunting rations, find you shelter, and be the first person to ever treat you with true respect. So, what were you meant to do? Not develop any sort of feelings for him? That level of self control seemed utterly ridiculous.

Although it’d only been a short period of time, you felt so safe with him. He asked you questions and showed true interest in your answers. He comforted you after a few jarring nightmares. He asked your opinions on things and never made you feel ashamed if you didn’t know something. He told you some quite riveting stories of his travels and woes; of monsters and magic and all sorts of things.

You could feel a considerable predicament arising.

Before he’d left to go hunting, Geralt had been kind enough to prepare a bath for you. Your complaints of muck had probably started to annoy him at this point, so he pulled out all of the bells and whistles. Flowers, herbs, oils, scents, milks, powders; you didn’t even know what kind of concoction this was, but it felt fancy. So you were going to enjoy it.

You scrubbed your body until your skin was practically raw, not allowing even one granule of dirt to be left behind. Frankly, you’d needed the distraction that concentration brought. Anything was better than the devilish thoughts of Geralt that replayed in your mind at every moment since you’d met him.

And since it was your first time being truly alone in the cottage, maybe it was time to do something about it.

You couldn’t help yourself. It was the perfect storm of desire. The heat of the bath, the filth polluting your mind, the views you’d had the honor of seeing throughout the past few days; he was irresistible. And if the only relief you could offer yourself was within the confines of your own fantasy, then so be it.

The herbs and flowers floated around the surface of the bath as the milk and oil clouded the water, obscuring the view of your hand as it lowered down the skin of your stomach. You’d never felt such strong urges in your entire life.

It was your first time trying anything like this, but you’d had the pleasure of indulging in a few erotic novels throughout your time at the castle. Your fingers lightly caressed the flesh of your opening, teasing the sensitive area and imagining the droplets of water cascading down Geralt’s back earlier that day. How it’d feel to run your tongue across each rippling muscle, collecting the liquid in your mouth.

You sunk your middle finger into your core, feeling the wetness pooling inside of you. This man had you wound so tightly around his finger; you were practically bursting at the seams. Once you’d collected some of your slick on the tip of your finger, you pulled back and circled around your tiny bud of nerves. When you’d finally made contact, your body reacted in a way it never had before. Your legs twitched, causing some of the bathwater to splash from the tub, but you couldn’t find one care in the world, not even slowing at the sound.

A desperate whine left your mouth unexpectedly before you bit down on your lower lip, silencing yourself. The hand that wasn’t busy with your throbbing nether regions gripped the edge of the tub, almost numb at this point. You knew that if Geralt was the one doing this to you, that hand would be wrapped up in his bright silver strands. The thought of him doing anything to make you feel this immodest nearly had you drooling. His dexterous, strong hands taking ownership of your pussy, showing you just how accommodating he could be.

His name left your lips in a desperate plea as you finally found a rhythm that suited you. You felt as if your body was no longer your own as you continued your descent in the search of pleasure. You slowly worked yourself, wanting to savor this feeling. Your breaths were loud and labored as you arched your back slightly, searching for a path closer to release. Your mind replaying every word Geralt had uttered to you since you’d first met, clawing for any semblance of relief.

Your movements came to a screeching halt upon hearing the deep voice you’d come to know so well—now outside of your thoughts. You snapped your eyes open quickly, seeing his smug face staring back at you as you jumped to cover yourself as much as you could.

“Am I interrupting something?” He cocked an eyebrow.

You gasped, hot shame bubbling in your chest as you fumbled through any words you could get out. “Geralt—I’m s-so sorry, I really—”.

He slowly started to untuck and unbutton his black shirt. Your mouth went dry as more of his skin was exposed, effectively silencing your babble. The raised markings of his scars were covered in a light sheen of sweat that looked absolutely delectable. You could feel your pupils dilating, your mouth opening slightly without your control.

He smirked at the look on your face, tossing his shirt to the side. “Would you like some help?” He gave you an appreciative once-over to emphasize his proposition.

Your eyes widened as you prayed to every god that this wasn’t some twisted trickery. You nodded, fearing that your voice would betray you.

He stripped himself of his boots and the rest of his clothing. He worked quickly and gracefully, tossing the garments without a care as he walked closer to the tub. While you were obviously curious, you avoided any glances south of his abdomen, feeling too bashful to even look. Moving to get in the bath, he sat down in front of you. Now face to face, you were curious as to where he was going with this—before he hauled you up to sit on the rim of the bathtub completely emerged from the water, now completely at the mercy of his gaze. You were completely unveiled to him and you couldn’t cease the nerves that flared up in response.

He kneeled back down in the water and you quickly moved to cover you breasts. But before you could successfully shield them from his view, he moved one of your hands to grip the tub and the other to grasp onto his hair. He maneuvered your legs to rest over his shoulders, putting you on full display to his hungry eyes as his huge hands held you steady by your thighs. His dominant movements, situating you how he’d like caused a heavy pulsing feeling to arise in your already glistening cherry.

He kissed each of your thighs passionately, sucking marks into the skin with lips ghosting over each valley of skin—just shy of where you needed him most. The outline of your pubic bone, your navel; using his tongue to explore the plains and ridges of your body.

“Gods, I’ve been waiting to eat this sweet cunt since the moment I cut you from that tree,” His voice somehow got rougher in this moment, soaked in the intoxication of lust, and you could swear you almost fainted. But before you had time to burn out, you were lit afire once again as his tongue licked a long stripe up your aching center, wrapping his lips around your clit as he reached the bundle.

Your grip on his hair tightened as you let out such a guttural sound, urging him on as he made work of your sensitivity. You were covered in the wetness from your bath and, now that you were out of the water, your body felt slightly chilled which was a delicious contrast from the aching heat of your core as he devoured you. Not missing one morsel.

He pleasured you with such eagerness and paid close attention to each of your sounds, repeating movements that granted the noisiest and most reactionary ones. The obscene musing of slurps, licks, and Geralt’s moans had you seeing stars. Each time your body would pull away from him in shock, he’d simply pull you closer by your thighs, grinding you onto his face.

“You taste like heaven. How does that feel, little elf?” He questioned, golden eyes staring into your own. “Hmm?”

He was so smug, but you didn’t have it in you to be even the least bit annoyed. Because with his skillful tongue, he deserved to be smug.

You whined at the separation, desperate for the release you’ve been denied your whole life. You could barely handle another second without it. “Please, Geralt—” you nearly sobbed, panting in between words, “I’ve never felt this way before. Please let me finish on your tongue. I want it so bad,”.

“Fuck,” he whispered, eyes glazing over in desperation at the utterly wrecked look on your face. “Anything you want, little elf” his warm breath ghosted over your dripping cunt as he spoke, “I’ll give you anything,”.

He pulled you impossibly closer and licked into your center, using his nose to nudge and stimulate your bundle. His groans as he devoured you reverberated through your center, overtaking all of your senses as you neared the edge.

Geralt enclosed his lips around your clit, sucking it feverishly with his tongue—and your vision went white. You let out the most broken sound as your insides bursted. You tugged relentlessly on the hair that you assumed he regretted offering up to you, but his groans of pleasure actually made you question that hypothesis.

Your breaths were deep and long as you looked down at him. He was still staring up at you with a look of pride—not cockiness—like he was excited to be able to share that impure moment with you. You moved your thighs from his shoulders and lowered yourself back into the tub, pulling him in for a kiss.

Your first kiss. And it was perfect. Although the order of events seemed a bit backwards, you couldn’t have hoped for anything better.

You could taste yourself on his tongue as he pulled you closer to sit on his lap in the water. His hardened member pressed against your stomach, so you decided it was his turn. You wrapped your fingers around his thick cock, all shyness from earlier dissipating, as you paid close attention to the tip. You pumped him slowly, slowly adding more pressure as you continued.

He inhaled a deep breath, almost as if he was holding himself back. “I’m going to take you to bed now, little elf” he enunciated his statement with a quick peck, “only if you’ll have me, that is—”.

You rolled your eyes at his chivalry. “Take me to bed then, Witcher,”.

You squealed in joyful shock at his show of strength as he quickly lifted you both up from the tub, water now cascading from your bodies and onto the surrounding floor. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you simply giggled.

You both fell onto the bed with water still dripping from your bodies, soaking through the sheets. You were a quilt of limbs, wrapped up in one another as your mouths communicated longing with deep, passionate kisses. While he was your only kiss, you could somehow tell that he tasted better than any others.

He worshipped your body with his hands, offering you the loving touch that you’d never felt. Whispering praise of how good you were doing and how lovely you were and how much he’d wanted you.

When he first entered you, he kept it jarringly slow—wanting to avoid any pain—but after he’d opened you up so well, there was only mild discomfort at first. Giving into your begs, he fucked you into the sheets with your prayers of more. You clawed at his back and he wished you would dig harder, so the memory of your first time together could scar and overwrite the brutalities that currently littered his spine.

You squeezed him so perfectly and brought him such euphoria. He never wanted to leave the warmth of your divine center, each thrust bringing you both closer to your end.

“C’mon, little elf. Come for your Witcher,”. Your Witcher was what did you in. You climaxed around his thick cock, the pulsing of your orgasm sending him over the hill right along with you. Both of you unleashing the most primal noises into the skin of the other; a shared moment of vulnerability between two creatures alike. This moment in which both of your worlds tilted in the most complementary way; a change that could be felt in the atmosphere.

He wrapped his arms around you tightly as you came down, grounding yourself in his slow breathing.

Once you’d both gotten cleaned up, you curled up in bed with Geralt as you laid your head on his naked pectoral. You studied him for quite a while as he played with the damp strands of your hair, battling sleep yet again, trying your best to lengthen this moment as much as you could.

But, of course, being the observant man he is, he quickly noticed your eyelids growing heavier.

“Rest up, little elf,” the smallest simper graced his eyes as he repeated his words from the first day in the cottage, “I’ll still be here when you wake up,”.

You closed your eyes with a ghost of a smile.

fin

A/N: Here’s my first crack at a fic for the Witcher (first of many, I’m hoping)!! I really hope you guys like it!! I’m not actually finished the series yet, so sorry if I get anything terribly wrong (I’m just trying so hard to savor it since it’s not back until 2021). I’m brushing back up on fanfic etiquette and writing style since I’m just getting back into the swing of things, so any feedback would be treasured!!! Let me know what you think, babies!

I used to have a tag list, but since it’s been so long since I was posting consistently, I’ve decided to abandon it--so if you wanna be tagged in my stuff, just drop by my ask box. I’d love to have you and I sincerely hope you didn’t hate this, ha! x g

#the witcher #the witcher x reader #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt fic #reader insert #geralt smut #geralt of rivia smut

2K notes · View notes

apollo-justice-for-all · 3 years

Text

Snow

AO3 link here

Summary: Apollo recalls his first experience with snow in the Khura'inese mountains with Dhurke and Nahyuta.

The Kingdom of Khura'in...or, to be more specific, the faraway mountains. A relatively safe haven for the Defiant Dragons as they planned their coup d'état against the tyrannical Queen Ga'ran Sigatar Khura'in and her equally tyrannical Defense Culpability Act.

The Defiant Dragons had multiple bases set up in the kingdom, from dilapidated buildings to even the complex sewer system underground. They even had spies within the ranks of the royal guards, stealthily observing the queen and her family's every actions - observations that they would then report back to their superiors.

Yet, time and again, the mountains proved themselves to be the primary base of operations for the Dragons. Standing at the pinnacle of the world, the mountains provided a great barrier of nature, one that proved to be impenetrable. No matter how many of the royal guards were sent out, the Dragons could conceal themselves within the dense forests and the vast fields. Even the deepest of lakes and the fastest of rivers could hide them from prying eyes.

But the mountains were also a dangerous place to live in. While the royal guards were a main concern, there was also the matter of other dangerous creatures roaming in the wild. One could easily find themselves face-to-face with a predatory animal like a tiger or a wolf, or a misstep could send someone falling off a cliff to their untimely demise. And, of course, there was always the matter of finding enough food to last an entire group...or a small family.

Dhurke always kept this in mind. Even after all the years he'd spent hiding in the mountains, living in that little shack, he knew there was danger to be had. Not just for himself, but also for his two boys, Nahyuta and Apollo.

Especially Apollo.

From the moment Dhurke took him under his wing, the young child had grown into quite the little spitfire, always full of energy and vigor, and always eager for adventure. Take away that piss and vinegar, and you get just that: a child, all alone, with his father dead and his mother missing. It broke Dhurke's heart every time he recalled the incident: the fire burning away at the palace, Apollo as an infant crying for help as his father lay dead...

He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear the fast pitter-patter of bare feet against the wooden floorboards, nor the sound of a door being swung open. The rush of cold air and a startled squeak, on the other hand, were enough to snap him out of his thoughts.

Dhurke turned around to find Apollo running towards him. His tiny hands were wrapped around something white and mushy, and his cheeks were bright red. He was also shivering from the coldness to the point where Dhurke could see his pointed canine teeth like little fangs (dragon fangs, according to Datz).

"D-D-Dhurke," Apollo spoke up between shivers. "What's this? It's s-so white, and wet and...and...and c-cold!"

Dhurke blinked in surprise. Then, he smiled. And let out a hearty chuckle. He knelt down to affectionately give his foster son a pat on the head, just behind his tiny horns. His other hand came up to poke the white stuff that was slowly but inexorably beginning to melt in Apollo's smaller hands.

"My boy," he said. "All this time in the mountains, and you have no idea about the natural world outside?"

Though, given the circumstances, he figured that being forced to hide from Ga'ran's royal guards was the main factor. But he didn't dare tell Apollo that. Instead, he took a clump of the white and wet...thing...and cupped it in his hands for Apollo to see.

"This is called snow," he explained. "The mountains are topped with it. And, at a certain time of year, it is what covers the land and makes it cold and white."

"S...suh-now..." Apollo slowly repeated.

Dhurke nodded. Apollo took a deep breath and said it again, with more confidence this time. "Snow!" He tossed the last bits of snow into the air, and watched as it scattered on the floor in small droplets.

Apollo frowned. "But if the snow covers the ground, then what happens to the grass, and the plants, and..."

Dhurke chuckled as he stood up. "Well, why don't we find out for ourselves together?" he asked. He went over to the closet and pulled out a large blue coat for himself as well as a smaller red coat for Apollo. He also took out a pair of mittens and boots to keep their hands and feet warm as well as some scarves.

Once Apollo was fully dressed, he followed Dhurke outside the shack and into the fields. More snow covered the ground, blanketing the world in white. Dhurke watched as Apollo gasped in awe at the new surroundings, his eyes sparkling with delight. He then looked down at the snow and ducked down on all fours to dig through it, as if he were searching for his hidden cache of a freshly-killed rabbit or squirrel.

Dhurke knelt down to Apollo's height as he put a hand on his shoulder. "You wish to know more about what happens to the grass and plants when the snow falls, don't you, son?" he asked.

"Uh-huh!" Apollo nodded with enthusiasm.

Dhurke sat down in the snow and pulled Apollo onto his lap. "Well, at this time of year, the plants and grass need to rest and recharge, like the rest of us. When the cold seasons start to settle in, they..." He paused, unsure where to go from there. "...They retreat back into the ground. The earth gives the plants the energy that normally would not be found just by obtaining sunlight and water alone, and the plants, in turn, give themselves to the earth to be reborn again."

He turned to the riverside. "And it's not just the grass that needs to rest, too. Ice forms over the water, and the fish within have to sleep for a very long time. It's the same with some animals, too. Some of them store up enough energy to sleep through and survive the long, cold nights and short days. And others retreat to warmer places."

He glanced up at the sky, noticing that it was starting to snow. "Apollo, listen carefully. Winter is a time when you should reflect upon your past and plan ahead for your future. It is a time to rest your body and mind so that you will be ready come the next spring. But most importantly, it is also a time to remember the fallen ones and to honor their spirits so that they will be reborn anew. And the snow is a symbol of it all - of death, of rest, and of rebirth. That is what makes the life cycle so incredible."

Apollo nodded. "OK," he said. "But what can we do with the snow?"

"How about this?" an older, yet still boyish voice sounded from behind them. As if on cue, Dhurke felt something cold and wet hit his back, startling Apollo. The two of them turned to find Nayhuta dressed in his white coat. He held a snowball in one hand as he grinned, his jade eyes standing out amongst all that white.

Dhurke stared at Nahyuta in bewilderment. Then, he chuckled. "Where'd you come from, my boy?" he asked.

Nahyuta smirked as he clutched his snowball with both hands. "Oh, you know, Father," he said rather innocently. "Just thought I'd surprise you both."

"Well, you certainly managed to accomplish that." Dhurke slowly got up just as Apollo hopped off his lap. "And now, you're going to get it! Raaah!"

Without warning, he scooped up a large clump of snow in his arms and threw it at both his boys. Nayhuta laughed as he dodged the wave of snow. Apollo, however, wasn't so lucky, as he tripped over and fell face-first in the snowbank.

Nahyuta gasped in shock and dropped his snowball as he rushed to his brother's aid. "Apollo! Apollo, are you alright?"

Luckily, Apollo wasn't injured at all. He simply sat up to wipe the snow off his hair and face and glared up at Nayhuta. "Yuty, we gotta get back at him!" he declared.

Nahyuta blinked. Then, he smiled and nodded. "Yeah, you're right," he said. "For the Defiant Dragons!"

The two boys quickly gathered up as many snowballs as they could before launching them at Dhurke. Their father laughed as tiny white orbs pelted his coat before retaliating with some of his own snowballs.

Even as Dhurke continued his snowball fight with Apollo and Nahyuta, he couldn't help but feel a dreaded thought nag the back of his mind. Though the snow held its own beauty, it also came with a danger of its own. Prey animals would become scarce, while predators could take desperate measures by invading the shack in search of any fresh meat they could find. And, of course, there was always the possibility of Ga'ran's followers coming into the mountains in search of them.

He knew that someday, one of his two sons would have to leave Khura'in for his safety. And he knew that day was fast approaching.

But for now, as he lay in the snow with his sons at his sides, Dhurke was happy to live out a snow day free of worry...a day where he and his family would be safe.

At least, for now.

* * *

"What are you thinking about, Polly?"

Apollo yelped as Trucy's voice startled him out of his daydream, so much so that it nearly caused him to fall out of his chair. After taking a moment to regain his composure, he then took a quick look at his surroundings.

Gone were Dhurke and Nahyuta along with the little shack in the mountains, replaced with the warm and messy (yet familiar all the same) office of Wright Anything Agency. Trucy was leaning over his desk in front of him, staring at him with concerned sapphire eyes.

Apollo sighed with exasperation as he rubbed his finger against his forehead. "Trucy, how many times do I have to tell you not to wake me up like that?" he complained. "It scares me every time."

Trucy withdrew from her perch atop Apollo's desk. "Sorry, Polly," she said. "But you looked pretty zoned out. What were you thinking about?"

Oh...that.

Apollo sighed as he relaxed in his chair. "Just...thinking about the times I used to play in the snow as a kid, I guess," he answered solemnly. "Snowball fights, snow angels...even sledding..."

Trucy tapped a finger to her chin, like she usually did when she was thinking hard. "You really miss all the fun times, don't you?" she asked. "It's not like you to feel down in the dumps, you know. You're usually a lot more serious than that, Polly."

And by serious, you mean grumpy, thought Apollo as he pouted a little.

Trucy glanced out at the window...and let out a gasp. "Polly! Polly, look!" she squealed excitedly. "It's snowing outside!"

Apollo blinked with surprise. "Wait, seriously?" he asked.

"Seriously, Polly! You gotta take a look at this!" Trucy pressed her gloved hands against the glass window, grinning with excitement. Apollo got up from his desk to look out the window. Almost right away, his eyes widened with amazement at what he saw.

Outside the office, he saw multiple snowflakes gently falling from the sky, blanketing the city skyscrapers in a soft and fluffy white. Down below, he noticed that some of the streets and sidewalks were empty, as if the people down below had chosen to leave room for nature to take over.

Almost unconsciously, Apollo found himself recalling Dhurke's words: "Winter is a time when you should reflect upon your past and plan ahead for your future. It is a time to rest your body and mind so that you will be ready come the next spring. But most importantly, it is also a time to remember the fallen ones and to honor their spirits so that they will be reborn anew."

He couldn't help but curl his lips into a small smile, remembering his first snow day in the mountains, in a world where he lived alone with his family. He wondered if they were doing the same, looking out into the window of their hideout, remembering that very day...remembering him.

"Hey, Polly!"

Apollo looked down at Trucy, her grin having morphed into a broad, toothy smile. "You wanna go and see if Mr. Gavin and Ms. Skye have taken the day off? I'm sure they won't resist a good snowball fight...or two. It'll be a good way for you to unwind as well."

Apollo thought this over for a moment. Then, he smiled. "Heh, why not?" he replied, his mind picturing a moment where he could finally knock that stupid, smug look off of that glimmerous fop's face.

"Perfect!" Trucy bounced over to grab her coat. "Then let's go make some calls and tell them to meet us over at People Park!"

"I'll be right there," Apollo said. "Just...need a moment." Once he was sure Trucy was gone, he leaned against the windowsill and looked outside once more. He let out a deep sigh as the memories came back to him. For the first time in his life, he realized just how alone he was, in America, without his family by his side.

Yet, at the same time, he couldn't help but think about the new friends and the new family he'd gained here. A group of close confidants who would always have his back no matter what.

He smiled. No matter what happened next, he would be fine.

#cyber drabble #Apollo Justice #Dhurke Sahdmadhi #Nahyuta Sahdmadhi #Trucy Wright #Defiant Dragons #Dragon family #Gramarye siblings #Ace Attorney #ace attorney fanfiction #writers on tumblr

21 notes · View notes

jbrentonparker · 3 years

Text

Plotting Method #7: Stream of Consciousness

Okay. Full disclosure. This is how I plot, and it’s a mess--but a lot of fun, in my opinion; and if you have a lot of thoughts all at once that aren’t necessarily coming out in a logical order, it may be the method for you.

This method doesn’t really have coherent steps, because it’s just based on the natural flow of your own thoughts.

Where to Start

Start with whatever you have. For the examples here, I’m going to make something up as a I go along, exactly as I would if I were doing this in real life.

Maybe you have an idea for a character, or a scene, or a concept. Start there by just writing it down. I write it as if I’m talking to myself, in full sentences, but may you’ll do bullet points, or a mind map, or some other method.

EXAMPLE: “Story idea: a story where a guy is on the run from death. Death is looking for him for some reason, and he’s trying not to be found.”

Expanding Upon the Idea

Okay, so now you have... something. And you don’t really know where to go with it. So start asking yourself questions, and try to answer them. They don’t have to be good answers, and you don’t have to use any of what you write. You’re just brainstorming until something clicks.

EXAMPLE: “So why is death after him??? Maybe he was supposed to die but found a way not to? May he was sick, knew he was dying, and somehow found a way to hide from Death (who is like an actual being in this world). Or maybe he died in some accident and made a deal with Death to get a little more time, and now Death is here to collect after the time runs out, but in the meantime the guy has found out a way to hide from Death? I think I like the first idea better though.”

Bouncing Around

One thing that is nice about this method is that you don’t need to work chronologically. You can bounce around as ideas come to you, and then go back and rework what you’ve come up with so far to fit in with the new ideas.

EXAMPLES: “I have this image in my head of a scene where the guy has finally been caught by Death, and is standing in like this... in-between, limbo world or something. Death is all pleased he’s finally caught up with the guy, but then the guy whips out this item, like a coin, that buys his way out of death. And maybe that’s how he does it, there are these special coins that can “buy” your freedom from death, and he has some way of finding them, over and over again, and always has at least one when Death shows up to collect the next time. And maybe he keeps dying over and over again in ridiculous ways, like eagles dropping turtles on his head and having sinkholes open up under his feet, as Death keeps trying to take him by surprise.”

Give Yourself a Goal

Once you have something to work off, start asking yourself questions about the conflict, climax, character goals, etc etc. Start working on getting your plot some direction, goals, and structure.

EXAMPLE: “So I know the conflict is this guy running from and outwitting Death, but what’s the climax? Where does that lead? Maybe he has to work WITH Death for some reason? Maybe he meets someone who needs to die by the end of the story? I feel like I want the main character to have to die in the end, but he has accepted it, and is ready to let it happen. Oh, maybe he meets someone who is going to die for some untimely reason, like they weren’t supposed to, and he has to give that person his coin to save them? Like, maybe he meets this woman, and while he’s in Limbo with Death, handing over his coin and getting out of dying for the millionth time, Death suddenly feels... like, a disturbance in the force. Something has happened that wasn’t supposed to, someone’s fate has been changed. Maybe Death pulls out this hourglass and sees that someone’s hourglass has suddenly lost a huge amount of sand at once--not supposed to happen. Death go,es there, bring MC for some reason? MC meets the woman, maybe she’s a Queen or leader of a group or country, and someone is planning to assassinate her. Death has a lot of work to do obviously, but can’t have this kind of reality-altering nonsense going on, so partly out of spite, he tells the MC to fix whatever has gone wrong and protect this woman, and he (Death) will stop trying to kill MC all the time. So then it becomes this political intrigue thing.”

Inevitable Changes

Do you see what happened up there in my example? Originally, I’d started out with an idea that the main conflict was between the Main Character (MC) and Death, and that the main antagonist was, more or less, Death. But now I have this completely different main antagonist, some shadowy assassin, and Death and my MC are forced to become allies. Things change as you work and come up with new ideas--and sometimes, you might follow a thread of an idea to the end, and find out it doesn’t work after all. You may have to throw it out and start over, possibly more than once. But it also helps you avoid plot holes later, by working through them in the planning stages.

Keeping Track of it All

The biggest challenge with this method is ending up with twenty pages of rambling plot, half of which you changed or didn’t use or is just you asking yourself questions.

How I combat this is by liberal use of my word processor’s highlighter. Once I feel like I’ve hit on something I’ll use, I’ll highlight it in the document, usually according to some kind of color-coded system (e.g. yellow for plot points, orange for actual scene ideas, blue for character ideas/background/development, green for lines of dialogue I’ve just thought of, etc).

Then, once I’ve plotted out as much as I can, I’ll go back through the document, pull those highlighted bits, and put them all in their own document--et viola, I have an outline.

The beauty of this method is it allows you to plot as minimally or extensively as you like. You can use it just to get a general sense of your overall plot, or keep drilling down until you end up with a chapter-by-chapter outline.

________________________________________________________________

If more structured plotting methods feel too restrictive or cookie-cutter, this could be a good alternative. If you’re transitioning from pantser to planner, it could be a good method to ease yourself into the new writing style. If you struggle with writing yourself into plot holes, this method could allow you to pursue plot threads in more depth before you write them, allowing you to spot pitfalls earlier on and avoid them later. Or if you find yourself just coming up with too many ideas all at once and struggle to get the first ones written down without forgetting the later ones, this method could allow you to just get all those ideas down and worry about stringing them together later.

#story plotting #plot ideas #plot #plot methods #plotting methods #writing tips #writing ideas #story structure #how to plot a story

91 notes · View notes

only-lonely-stars · 3 years

Text

Brighter Every Day, Chapter 1

[Chapter 1 - you are here!] // [Chapter 2] // [Epilogue] (FFN)

Summary: The future may be bright, but it isn't here yet; even so, life gets brighter every day. Knowing their future paths, Cole and Vania undertake the task of devising this bright future. With many obstacles and victories, they know they will be happy in the end... but in what manner? (Rated T for safety. Book 2 of the Cosmic Spoilers AU, sequel to The Future is Bright.)

This story is a sequel to another of my stories!

Prequel fic: The Future is Bright (#the future is bright, FFN)

------

Chapter 1: You Make It All Okay

Cole Brookstone was an expert, professional ninja. He was a master fighter, a respected fighter, and an Elemental Master. He'd fought monsters and demons, survived becoming a ghost, defeated ancient evils, overcome terrible odds, and become a legend. He had done great, heroic things, and all of Ninjago knew his name. Even the people of other realms knew of him!

Over his years of service to Ninjago, he had served its people faithfully. He had never wavered, and despite close calls, they had never lost the wars they waged. Cole's work was a part of that; even death for the cause was not enough to stop him from protecting those who could not protect themselves. He stood up to many a tyrant, and for his work he was often rewarded by great adventure and fame.

All of Cole's work had rewarded him well, all things considered. He had a family that loved him dearly. He had his mother's legacy. He had a human body again, and even more elemental power than before. He had become someone worth calling a hero. He'd even gotten a glimpse into his future.

Yes, the future was bright, and the present was brighter every day. He'd learned he had a future, back when he wasn't sure he did. Then he'd learned it would take place in the Ivory City of Shintaro. Last but not least, he'd learned the identity of the person with whom he'd spend the rest of his life in Shintaro: its ruler, Queen Vania.

Now, as he faced the world ahead, Cole found that life was good. He was happy, Ninjago was safe, and all was well in the world. He could relax, knowing he was a ninja who could protect all the people he loved.

Plus, according to Vania– who had agreed to be his girlfriend, to their mutual delight– he was also a wonderful pillow.

Today, Cole was in Shintaro to visit her. This time, they were simply sitting together in a big plush chair, and she rested her head on his chest quietly. It wasn't the first time they'd cuddled like this– their first kiss had happened in a moment just like it. It was simply the most recent, and this time, he appreciated it more than any other.

Cole sighed, eyes closed as he rested with her, thinking about the past week. Like usual, they'd dealt with a particularly bad series of emergencies; none of the Ninja had been able to sleep more than three hours a night. Fires, an untimely earthquake, and flooding had taken their toll on the outskirts of incorporated Ninjago City, and the countryside hadn't fared much better in a lot of those circumstances.

In addition to the damage of the various disasters afflicting their country, crime was spiking. In Master Wu's words, "the wake of natural disaster made many desperate people." The Ninja had been tasked with helping the police handle the huge brunt of the need for defense, and they'd taken it in stride to the best of their ability. Even so...

It was all over now. The chaos was finally past, but Cole was still dealing with the sleep deprivation and exhaustion. He was so, so tired, and little fixed it other than sleep.

Presently from her place beside him, Vania nestled into Cole's arms. He was struck by her size– she was so small that he could easily wrap an arm around her, and farther besides. She was a wonderful woman, and the fact that she was willing to just sit with him was relaxing and soothing to no end. It made him wonder how he deserved her and her love, if he deserved her to begin with. What was a woman like her doing with a man like him– a hero, but still only a man?

The ice caves had been a blessing and a curse, back when he visited them for the first time. Now, he knew they were mostly the former, and ever more by the day. Foreknowledge of his life gave him hope for the future.

For years, Cole had struggled under the weight of prescience. When he'd visited the First Master's tomb for the first time, it had revealed his future to be in Shintaro. Through a few choice meetings and another two visits, he'd figured out that his future was with Vania, rather than simply being in Shintaro. Now, he knew doubtlessly that she was the love of his life.

A tap on his chest pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked down to meet her bright gaze.

She smiled at him, sweet and beautiful, with curiosity in her eyes. "What are you thinking about?"

He smiled back at her. "Just about how I deserved you, Queenie."

"If I recall, nobody deserves anybody else."

"I mean… that's true, but I've still got you, and it wasn't because of me doing something to earn you." He chuckled, and with the arm that encircled her, he rubbed little circles into her side. She closed her eyes in pleasure, and he smiled at her reaction to such a simple, affectionate gesture.

Vania sighed happily. "Deserving people isn't a real thing."

"Yeah… but still. I missed you this past week. I'm happy to be here with you."

"Yeah?" She looked at him again, her gaze soft. "I heard about what happened in the city. It sounded really chaotic."

"Oh yeah. Let me tell you, it was definitely not the best week of my life." He smiled wryly, yawning. "I'm really sleep-deprived."

"Oh, that's not good!" She frowned, reaching up to touch his cheek. "Did you need to use one of the guest rooms and get some rest while you're here?"

"Nah, it's okay. I don't want to waste any of my time with you because I need sleep." He bent down, kissing the crown of her head. "I'll be okay."

She sighed, laying her head on his shoulder again with another little smile. "Okay isn't always good enough, though. I want you to feel wonderful."

"Who's to say I don't?"

"Well, your yawning says otherwise." She reached up an arm and poked him in the shoulder, smiling all the while. "You should take a nap!"

"No, I want to be with you!" He squeezed her gently by the waist. "I haven't seen you in weeks, Vania!"

"Silly, I'm still going to be here when you wake up!" She reached up and touched his cheek again, caressing it. "Just go to bed, Cole. You'll feel better."

He frowned, but seeing as that wasn't going anywhere, he took a different approach. "Well if I'm going to sleep, I'm going to sleep right here in this chair. I'm not moving."

"That's fine." She raised her head from his shoulder, pushing herself up from her place against his side, and his embrace loosened as she slowly left it. "I can just go work and let you sleep…" She looked him in the eyes, and hesitated. "Since you clearly need a nap."

He smiled a little. He didn't want to let her go, but to force her to stay would be rude. "According to you, I do. Do you not want one? It's not like this chair isn't big enough for two."

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant!" She blushed a little. "It's just– it's not exactly appropriate, is it?"

"Bah, whatever." He rolled his eyes, smiling wider. "Do you want it to be inappropriate?"

"No, this is my palace! I'm the person in charge here!" She pouted. "I have a reputation to uphold."

"Fair enough…" He sighed, feeling exhausted again. "I didn't think about that. I just..."

She sighed. "Yeah." Her mouth was open as she prepared to say something more, but she kept silent, hesitating for an agonizingly long time. "...I really shouldn't."

He nodded, letting his arm fall from embracing her. "Fair enough. If you think you should go, then go."

She hesitated again, looking like she was extremely torn. There was a light in here eyes that was distinctly hesitant. Her eyes really were beautiful, and today they shone with the light streaming in a window to the side– they were lit up in a sapphire tone that he couldn't help but adore.

With every second that passed, Cole expected her to get up and leave him alone in the chair, but it didn't happen. She just kept watching him, until finally, something changed in her mind. Then, slowly, she began to lower herself back down into his embrace, gaze flickering with confliction. "Well… okay, it's not like it's really that inappropriate, is it?"

He hesitated, heart beating fast as he watched her slowly take the place she'd occupied before. "Are you staying?"

"Yeah. I don't see why not... and a nap would be nice." She smiled at him, blushing dark pink. Once again, he was struck by her surpassing beauty. "If you don't mind, that is."

"'Course I don't, Queenie." He smiled back, feeling warm and happy as she laid back down. When she was comfortable, he wrapped an arm around her to cradle her into his side for warmth. "I don't mind at all."

With a happy sigh, Vania laid her head back down on his chest, closing her eyes. "I guess you're my pillow again, Cole."

He grinned, closing his eyes in the face of sheer sleepy happiness. "Am I, now? That's not the career choice I thought I made."

"Well, it's the one you got." She snuggled close, head under his chin as her soft hair splayed across his shoulder. "So you'd better like it."

"Fine. I'll be my beautiful girlfriend's pillow." He kissed the crown of her head, the warm fuzziness of sleep starting to descend. "Where's the harm?"

She sighed, reaching up to rest a hand softly on his other shoulder to cuddle him. "It doesn't matter where the harm is right now. It's not with us, and it's not here in Shintaro."

"Not here," he repeated, letting his hands settle on her waist.

"Yeah. Not here."

"I think I can get behind that," he murmured, eyes feeling heavier. "A peaceful life sounds good right now."

"It does." She sounded so sleepy, yawning so quietly. "Do ninjas protect against nightmares too?"

"Of course we do. Wouldn't dream otherwise." At his words, she giggled. The sound sparkled, and he squeezed her a little as he watched her. "Got some dreams to fight off?"

She glanced up at him, smiling mischievously. "Only the ones that don't have you in them, handsome."

He blushed, beaming at her. "Well, good news, beautiful."

"I know." She blushed too. "I love you."

He chuckled as she hid her face, squeezing her the tiniest bit. "I love you too, sweetheart. You're always safe in my arms."

"I know I am. I never doubted that." She snuggled in closer, much to his delight. "Just like you're safe in mine."

He sighed happily, cherishing that feeling of security as sleep drifted over them both. "I believe it, Queenie."

She sighed softly. "Good..."

As quiet returned, Cole closed his eyes again, finally surrendering to the call of sleep. It was sweet and soft, even singing to him… as Vania's heartbeat gently slowed as she drifted off, he felt it take him too.

Before long, the lovers were quiet without stirring, peaceful as they held each other. A hero and a queen, embracing in sleep, keeping each other company– it was nothing if not perfection.

As sleep took him, Cole's last thought was one of bliss.

"You make everything okay."

#OLST fanfic #ninjago fanfic #ninjago #cole brookstone #princess vania #ninjago cole #ninjago vania #colania #vanillacake #vanillacakeshipping #cole x vania #vania x cole #ninjago au #THIS FIC HAS A UNIQUE TAG FOR YOU TO SEARCH ON MY BLOG:#brighter every day #no update schedule but I'm gonna try for posting on mondays #<3 it's about time I posted the beginning of this!

17 notes · View notes

bonjour-rainycity · 4 years

Text

The Long Way Around ~ Chapter 6

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/623283543296049154/the-long-way-around-chapter-5

Pairing: Jasper x Reader

Word count: 1954

Warnings: None

Jasper’s POV

I sigh, trying to concentrate on the papers before me. Once Y/n came into our lives, I had decided to halt my studies at school. She arrived during the summer so it wasn’t like anyone would notice my sudden, and perhaps suspicious, disappearance from class, but my family agreed that we could really only afford for one or two of us to deviate from our cover story. So once classes resumed in the fall, all but I continued attendance at the local university. Once she found out, Y/n had lamented at my loss of education and insisted I continue studying at least something of interest. She didn’t seem to understand how little a year or two out of school would affect me, given how many times I’ve gone through both high school and varying post-graduate degrees. But still, the gesture was kind so I agreed and have sent spent a few hours every day since that conversation brushing up on my world history. Right now I’m camped in the basement where we keep our extensive library (excluding the volumes found in Carlisle’s office and our individual rooms) digging through first-hand accounts of Otto von Bismarck’s rise to influence. It’s interesting enough, but still, my attention is elsewhere. At least half of my focus is upstairs, carefully monitoring Y/n’s moods. She’s become much more even as time passes, but still, not keeping tabs on her makes me nervous. Newborns are so unpredictable and so reliant on their emotions that at any moment, she could react badly and cause herself or someone else harm. It’s not that I don’t trust her, it’s just that I know how this goes. And I would hate myself if anything happened to my family or Y/n, especially if I could have done something to prevent it.

She’s been struggling recently with missing her family and friends, and that’s always difficult. For most of us, we had been immediately taken away from our loved ones plus had been changed during a time when news recordings and social media didn’t exist. Y/n does not have that luxury. At least once a week, she’ll find some news source with reports from her parents or come across a social media page of one of her friends. It breaks her heart. Secretly, I had gone to Carlisle and discussed the benefits of moving. It only adds to Y/n’s pain being only a handful of miles from the people she loves, and perhaps moving away would aid in her healing. But Carlisle shot the idea down, citing our advantageous location and the dangers of moving cross-country with a volatile newborn. So, instead, I sought to distract her. One of the reasons she felt bad about stopping my schooling is because her own had been paused suddenly due to her untimely death. So, I loaned her a few of my old textbooks, which she has been studying relentlessly. Carlisle also offered his services, and it’s not uncommon to find Y/n perched in one of the chairs in his office grilling him about everything under the medical sun. All in all, she’s adjusting well. Still, I worry. At the drop of a dime, her control could slip or her emotions could get the best of her. That’s why, when I feel her switch from a relaxed, curious state to one of annoyance, I take notice, and listen.

“You really need to let your human life go, Y/n. At this point, you’re only dragging out your own pain. There’s nothing you can do about it anyway. That life is as lost to you as your soul.”

Now I feel annoyance at my brother’s predictable morose attitude. Even to this day, Edward grapples with losing humanity and, according to him, his soul, and often pushes those feelings onto others. As far as I can tell, Y/n doesn’t believe vampirism has damned her, and I would like to keep Edward from putting those thoughts in her head. They simply aren’t true.

Y/n responds with a biting tone. “They’re my loved ones, Edward, not yours. Please don’t tell me how to deal with losing them. If you don’t like my thoughts, stay out of my head.”

Rosalie chimes in, always interested in fighting with Edward. “Really, Edward, back off. You’re the one who helped Bella keep her precious humans in our life and risked our exposure, so you’ve no room to talk here.” It was the wrong thing to say. Y/n’s anger flares.

“Hypocrite! That is such a double standard!”

I feel Edward’s anger increase too, and I know they’re filling a keg with powder and readying their matches. I hurry upstairs.

“It’s different. Bella was going through a lot and-”

“And I’m not?” Y/n’s incredulity is plain.

Rosalie scoffs.“What precious Bella wants, she gets. The rest of us are expected to live by a different set of rules.”

“Okay guys, let’s take this down a notch.” Emmett intervenes as I get to the top of the stairs.

“I agree.”

Y/n’s eyes flicker to mine, and I register her guilt. Why?

Whatever’s in her mind causes Edward to scoff. “You’re not bothering him with your emotions, he lives for this stuff. It makes him feel like he has some kind of purpose.”

“You are so pessimistic,” Y/n groans, putting her head in her hands. “Whatever. I am not doing this anymore. I’m going for a walk. Jasper?”

Immediately, I’m at her side, not even needing to think about joining her. It’s just natural, at this point, to be with her.

She smiles tightly as we walk out the back door, and I can tell she’s trying to calm herself down. “Sorry I interrupted your studying.”

I shrug, honestly not bothered at all. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nice to get outside….The leaves are just starting to change.”

Now, her smile becomes much more natural. “Aren’t they gorgeous? It’s even better now that I can see them with these new eyes. And I can hear the crunch when I step on them and the smell of fall is just,” she sighs, a dreamy look in her eye. But then I feel the sadness creep back in.

I’m hesitant to ask, not wanting to upset her further. “Are you alright?”

She bites the inside of her cheek and looks away. When she finally speaks again, her voice is unsteady. “I just really, really miss my family. It’s hard to leave them and come to terms with…what I am. And of course I’m so grateful that I have all of you,—well,” she chuckles darkly, “today I could do without Edward but that’s beside the point.” She trails off, lost in her thoughts.

I look into the horizon, enjoying the light of the setting sun but regretting the added sadness she’s suffered on behalf of my brother. “I’m sorry he upset you. I can talk to him tomorrow-”

“Oh, that’s alright,” she waves a hand, smiling softly. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do with your siblings? Argue?”

I chuckle, nodding. We certainly do argue.

She turns to face me then, stopping her walking. “Thank you though.”

The sunlight filters through the trees, hitting our skin and illuminating us. She gasps softly, and I sense her wonderment. She’s seen what the sun does to our skin many times, but it never ceases to amaze her. It’s really sweet. Slowly, she reaches up and lightly trails her fingers over the side of my face where the sun hits. I freeze, not wanting to make any movement that would cause her to stop. I enjoy her touch much more than I would like to admit. It feels so nice to be handled so softly, compared to the harshness I’d become accustomed to in my past. I close my eyes.

“Beautiful,” she breathes, letting her hand fall.

I smile, enjoying this moment. “It is one of the more mesmerizing attributes of this life.”

Now, I feel her playfulness. “You know what else is great? The speed.”

My mood soon matches hers. “Wanna race?”

She frowns, turning in the direction of the house. “Oh, no I think we should-”

And then she’s off, laughing wildly. I shake my head, realizing I’ve just been tricked and, with a laugh of my own, take off at a sprint after her.

{***}

“Jasper,” she starts, sitting down on the rock next to me. “Where are all the other vampires?”

“All over, really, though most tend to avoid especially sunny cities.” I shake water from the river off my hands. A few seconds prior, I’d reached in to grab some pebbles to skip. “We’re the largest coven in the area. Anyone else around here is likely a loner or part of a nomad coven.”

She pauses, thinking. “Doesn’t anyone ever come to visit?”

“Very rarely, and Alice can sometimes give us some warning, though not always. But the nomads that visit usually leave very quickly. We don’t allow them to hunt in this area, as it could raise suspicion and cause problems for us. That tends to make extended stays unappealing.”

“Well, what about friends?”

I smirk. “Vampires don’t really have friends.”

This confuses her. “Then what are you and your family? You’re certainly not just acquaintances.”

I smile, thinking of the best way to explain the complicated relationships between vampires. “Let me rephrase: most vampires don’t have friends. Carlisle theorizes that, because we don’t drink human blood, we’re less animalistic, a little less reliant on our instincts. Instincts that, under normal circumstances, would keep us from forming bonds because other vampires generally pose a threat to getting a meal.” She nods, understanding. “Because we are slightly more, human, for a lack of a better word, we do enjoy friendships and closer relationships, like I have with my adopted siblings. Realistically, though, that’s not how it works at all. For normal vampires, the only type of close relationship they experience is between mates. Those relationships last forever though, so I guess it’s enough to satisfy the need for connection.”

Y/n raises her eyebrows, disbelieving. “You’re telling me immortal vampires are monogamous for life?”

I chuckle. “Apparently, once you find the right one it’s just natural. I’ve seen it happen, felt the feelings they feel. It’s intense.”

She considers this, but says nothing further. Until, “have you ever felt that way?”

Subconsciously, I study the scars on my hands. “I thought I did.”

“With Maria,” she guesses. Y/n knows most of my history, so it’s no surprise that she’s able to put the pieces together of my involvement with Maria. Strangely, I find myself wishing that I could say no, that I’ve never been with with anyone like that. Or, at least, that I’d never been involved with Maria like that.

“Have you,” I counter to distract from my sudden regret.

She shakes her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. “My human memories are fading by the day, but I’m pretty sure the answer is no. My twenty years of life were nothing to write home about.”

Now it’s my turn to smile, somewhat ruefully. “You’ve got millennia ahead of you. I’m sure at least something notable will occur.”

She chuckles, shrugging. “Perhaps. For now, I should just focus on making it through the rest of this year.”

“We’ll get you through it,” I answer, confident.

She hugs her knees into her chest, feeling peaceful. “I believe you.” Then, her playfulness returns. “But step one should be feeding me, because I’m starving.”

I chuckle, stand, and offer her a hand. She grabs it, allowing me to pull her up. “Lead the way.”

A/n Let me know what you thought of this chapter/the characters and if you would like to be added to the tag list! I hope you all have a good day/night <3

xx,

Bjr

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/623476978292555776/the-long-way-around-chapter-7

Tag list: @puer-de-infinitate @charliestuff @hindustani-diaspora @one-thread-can-save-a-life @salsameter @enchantedcruelsummer @meashy-moo

157 notes · View notes

please-say-less · 4 years

Text

push my luck (part one)

player: mat barzal | new york islanders word count: 1, 539 warnings: light angst, pining, your heart will literally melt at how sweet mat is, no beta we die like men summary: growing up with mat, you’ve only ever seen him as the shy boy that you’ve spent your whole life being best friends with. after moving to new york, he hasn’t kept in much contact, but when you come to visit, he just wants to know if you’re feelings for him have changed too. author’s note: issa three-shot. bad summary is bad but kinda wrote this on the basis of mat as moreso a Soft Boy™ with hints of being a goober. yeah bro idk what’s with me and roommates to lovers tropes. ok but let me know if y’all are even vibing with the way i write his pov cos my writing feels highkey cringe to me all the time. whoops.

beginning | part two

“Hey, you okay, dude?”

It’s difficult to breathe with the air stuck in his throat, and he can’t help but rub his clammy hands all over his new suit－oh well, it looked nice enough for a few photos. His face is getting a little too hot, and he’s become a stuttering mess with his words. Anybody would think after the last couple of years as a well-known athlete in New York, he’d be able to handle any stressful situation, yet you manage to give him the same effect time after time.

“Huh?” he looks back over to Tito. “Y-Yeah. . . Totally fine.”

The questioning look on his friend’s face is enough of a dead giveaway that Mathew is probably the worst actor and liar on Earth, but he doesn’t care about the endless amount of teasing he’ll get for this. It’s been too long since he’s last seen you and to say that he misses the butterflies you give him would be quite the understatement.

Even now, he doesn’t see you as anything different than the same girl next door from home that he’s spent a majority of life being smitten with and the same ball of energy that’s cheered him on at every game from youth hockey to playing in the NHL until the two of you had to part ways. Yes, the worst event of his life that he’s dubbed his Untimely Death Part 1－Part 2 being the time Tito took him out to Coney Island and handed the poor boy a pretzel before the seagulls started chasing him down the boardwalk. In a way, he’s spent part of his time in New York mourning the death of what used to be, and there’s still a part of him that regrets not keeping in contact with you.

He’s not the most confident guy when it comes to dating, and as he swallows the lump of nervousness that’s been building up in his throat, Mathew hopes that his uncertainty isn’t as painfully obvious as he usually makes himself out to be.

He downs the shot of whiskey, and as the amber leaves a burning trail from his throat down to his belly, he mentally prepares himself on his introduction to you. He wants you to know that he’s grown in the last couple years, and he’s not the same immature boy you knew back home. He’s a man now and has the means to take care of you, should you need it. Chin up, head high, and shoulders back－he struts up to you with his newfound confidence.

“You look beautiful in that dress,” he comments.

Turning around confused, you smile as soon as you see who it is. The two of you embrace, and he can’t help but admire just how well your body fits in his arms－as it always has honestly. He probably has the dumbest, widest smile on his face right now, but he’s just so elated to see you again. It’s hard for him to concentrate on the words coming out of your mouth as he gazes at you with loving eyes through rose colored glasses. You’re just really here right now.

“Mat! It’s been too long!”

He offers you his arm, and you take it as he walks you over to the bar and orders two flutes of champagne from the bartender. The two of you continue to chat for too long of a while, and he almost forgets that talking to you comes just as naturally as breathing. He admires your features and notices that you’ve done some growing as well. Your curves have filled out lusciously, and you have a more womanly aura that surrounds you.

“So how are you and that one guy?” he asks. “You two still together?”

“Please, we were never a thing,” you roll your eyes. “I can’t believe my mom told your mom about that－it was just one date!”

“I’m guessing it didn’t go great then?”

“He spent the whole time messaging other girls, so I made up some excuse to leave. The loser wouldn’t stop messaging me wondering why I wouldn’t go out with him again, and I had to bite my tongue!”

He nods in understanding as you let out an exaggerated huff, but mentally, he’s doing backflips out of joy knowing that maybe you’ve been waiting just as long for him too. How else could someone as beautiful as you still be single after all this time?

“New York seems nice,” you say.

“It’d be nicer with you,” he chuckles.

“Those are some bold words to say, Barzal.”

“It gets kind of lonely sometimes. Tito’s always been closest to me, and now that he’s got a girl, it’s just easier to tell them I’m busy than suffer through being a third wheel.”

You can’t help but laugh at his lame attempt at getting you to move countries, but at the same time, a change of scenery doesn’t sound like a bad idea at all. Besides your family, nothing’s really keeping you tied to your hometown, and your parents continuously insist that you see the world before you settle down. After all, you were single and fresh out of college but having a familiar face in a new place didn’t make it seem as scary.

“I don’t know. . .” you chew your lip. “I did get a job offer around here.”

“Oh yeah?” he tries to contain his excitement.

“I just wouldn’t know where to stay or what to do. A new city can be scary.”

All the stars and moons in the galaxy have perfectly aligned for this moment to finally culminate, and this must be the work of his prayers finally being answered. He needs to shoot his shot now while the ball’s in his court, or the chance may never come again. A sudden wave of nervousness crashes over him at the possibility of the actual death of his relationship with you should he hesitate once again.

“You could stay with me if you wanted－I mean－until you can find your own place.”

He sincerely wants to help you, but he also feels a sense of guilt in hopes that you end up depending on him. Although money hasn’t become an issue in his life after taking the big leap and signing a contract with the Islanders, New York City is by no means an inexpensive place to live.

“I wouldn’t want to impose. . .”

“No－I want you to stay with me!”

Suddenly his Untimely Death Part Three is going to come sooner than expected. His shoulders tense and jaw clenches as he realizes what he’s just blurted out, and he can feel his face turning red at just how dumb he is. He’s just revealed his biggest secret, and he’s in no way subtle or chill about it. He’s ready to turn back around, run out of the building, and head back to his house to hide under a rock until things blow over, but he becomes confused when he hears you giggling.

“I think you’re the only person who’s ever been this excited to live with me,” you smile.

“Uh－Yeah－Wouldn’t want you staying with some stranger or creep, y’know?”

He tries to play it cool, but Mat Barzal, in fact, is not by any means playing it cool. If anything, he’s the creep for trying to get you to stay with him. As if by some magic, you would fall head over heels for him overnight, and everything he’d been dreaming of since childhood adolescence would finally be coming true.

He’d whisk you away, and the two of you could be married somewhere beautiful with white sand beaches and ocean water as clear as the sky. Then maybe you could honeymoon throughout Europe before settling down and buying a house. After that, kids could fit somewhere into the equation. Wait, do you even want kids? He ponders the idea to himself for a moment before smiling at the idea of how cute you would look pregnant, and when he imagines you as a mother tending to your children and husband, he’s sold himself on the idea.

“Careful, I might have to take you up on that,” you snap him out of his daydream.

“Wh-What?” he stutters.

“Honestly, I kind of miss hanging out with you. No one back home can really compare to the Mathew Barzal.”

A light blush spreads across his cheeks. His full name sounds like a symphony coming out of your mouth, and he spends a little too much time focusing on the way your plump lips sound out each syllable of his name. He can’t help but imagine how soft your lips would feel if they were pressed against his, but as he continues to picture the other things those lips could do, he stops himself before having to deal with the possibility of his Untimely Death Part Four in the middle of this gala.

Somehow with his not-so-convincing words, he’s managed to talk you into moving in with him, and when you talk to your families about it, they’re more than happy about your new living situation. It gives them the excuse to visit more often, but he’s more excited at the thought of just being around you again.

#nhl imagines #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal one shot

98 notes · View notes

karanna1 · 4 years

Text

Supergirl and Andrea are trapped by Leviathan and thrown into a cell together. They’re doing something to suppress Acrata’s powers and Supergirl blew out hers while fighting Leviathan. So they’re not going anywhere anytime soon. What could they possibly find to talk about as a way to pass the time?

The cell was clean, for that she could be grateful, but it was still a depressing grey color and dimly lit. There was nothing in it, not even a chair or a cot. From what Kara could tell, the walls were made of various alien metal alloys. The door must be 10 inches thick, not that it mattered. She’d solar flared after facing Rhama Khan and his minion knocked her unconscious. When she woke, she was still powerless and lying in this cell with none other than her boss and Lena’s friend, Andrea Rojas. The first hour passed in silence, probably mostly due to fear on Andrea’s part. But as the wait continued, boredom set in, and for Andrea, boredom seemed to be easier to focus on than fear.

“Since we’re stuck in here, we might as well find a way to pass the time before our untimely deaths,” she said, brushing some unseen dirt from her skirt.

They were sitting directly opposite each other on the floor, their backs to the uncomfortably cool metal wall.

“We’re not going to die,” Kara reassured in her most confident and level Supergirl voice. “I have friends that will help us. I promise, I will get you out of here safely.”

“Do you make a lot of promises you can’t keep?”

“What?”

“Just trying to figure something out...” she trailed off, tilting her head at her with just a little too much scrutiny. Kara shifted uncomfortably and turned away, looking down. “Okay, I have to ask...what on Earth did you do to Lena Luthor?”

Kara snapped back up. “Excuse me?” Her voice had gone up a few octaves.

She shrugged, tilting her head back against the wall. “I have never seen her show such concentrated rage before and we’ve known each other since we were teenagers.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Lena logged a lot of hours using Obsidian lenses,” she explained. “As in hundreds. Naturally, I was curious what she’d be using them for at such length. Knowing her, I guessed something to do with her experiments, running trials using VR would certainly speed up the process and take out years of work from the beginning stages. Wow, was I wrong. Every single simulation she ran was for sole purpose of hurting you.”

Kara frowned, swallowing hard.

“I mean, Lena’s incredibly creative, I always knew that, but the number of ways in which she assaulted you with such spectacular violence just blew my mind. It’s the kind of thing I’ve only seen from exes on our platform. Ex-husbands get the most horrific ones and almost always deservedly so. I have to know, Supergirl...what could you have possibly done to this Luthor, infamous for her use of icy revenge, to turn her into such a fiery ball of rage?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kara replied dully and got to her feet, arms crossed tightly.

“I’m talking about Lena spending hours upon hours violently beating the crap out of you in a myriad of different ways.”

Kara started pacing. Her jaw clenched.

“There was one where you flew her to some beautiful cliffside to show her the sunset and she kicked you in the chest so hard that you bounced off the mountain the whole way down, leaving a Supergirl shaped crater at the bottom. Another where you saved a family from a house fire, but as soon as they walked away, Lena doused you in gasoline and used a wrecking ball to knock you back into the burning building. The flames were wildly cool. But that’s how good our technology is, of course. Looks and feels like the real thing.”

“Enough!” She stopped and turned on her with a glare, nostrils flaring, made more obvious by how hard she was breathing.

But Andrea was unfazed. “Oh come on! My favorite, and seemingly a favorite of Lena’s as well with how often she ran it, is when you stop a school bus from hitting an adorable group of children. Lena drops some absolutely scathing remarks from what I can tell by your kicked puppy expression, and then she punches you in the face so hard that the force of it sends you flying backwards into the school bus, blowing it up!” She laughed. “God, that was fantastic. I was so disappointed we didn’t manage to recover the audio for any of them. Naturally, Lena customized everything and, despite her efforts to try to keep the footage private, she didn’t know about a little backdoor that we specifically coded into the software for emergency reasons so...lucky me, it’s all on our servers.”

“She...she did that?” Kara asked weakly, deflating. “For hours?”

Andrea nodded with another laugh. “Oh, it’s crazy. I’d be happy to show you them if we do get out of here alive.”

“No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself. But it was interesting to see how someone could get under Lena’s skin like this. Even at her most vulnerable with me, she never turned into...that. Lena shuts down, walls herself off, no emotions, no hurt, that sort of thing. With you...dear God! How did you manage to devastate her like that and yet she can’t even bring herself to hurt you in a virtual reality simulation?”

Kara’s face contorted in bewilderment. “What are you talking about? You just described a bunch of horrible ways that she...fake-killed me.”

“Well, it would have killed any human, of course. But you’re Supergirl. You’d shrug off any of those things. Everyone knows there’s only one thing on Earth that can kill a Super. Lena built each and every one of those simulations herself. She could have easily given herself a gun with Kryptonite bullets, empty the chamber into you, and watch you writhe in agony before you eventually died a horrible death. Or she could have used a sword with a Kryptonite blade and carved you up into tiny bloody pieces. Or—“

“I get it!” Kara cried, holding her hand out. “I get the point! Just stop.” She looked sick to her stomach as she leaned against the wall, head hung low.

Andrea raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think you do. Look, any first year psych major could see through it. Lena had every imaginable way available to make you suffer a long, torturous death a thousand times over in the simulations, but she never did. I don’t know why she bothered with VR when she could have achieved the same thing by putting a picture of your face on a punching bag. In the simulations, you’re always Supergirl. You’re always invulnerable. No matter how terrifically violent it was, no matter how much she seemed to want to hurt you, she couldn’t even manage it in a fantasy world. So tell me...who are you to her, Supergirl? You’re not exactly what I’d call her type, but she’s never been altogether predictable...”

“You’ve got it all wrong. That’s-that’s not—“

“Oh I’m right about this and you know it. You did something absolutely devastating to her, likely betrayed her somehow, and shattered her heart. Was it an affair? Ooooh, was it Kara Danvers? That would be deliciously terrible. Lena is clearly infatuated with that woman. Frankly, I don’t even know why she’d bother with you when she’s pining for Kara.”

“You need to stop. Lena is supposed to be your friend, show her some respect.”

“Am I hurting your feelings, Girl of Steel? You don’t sound very surprised by the mention of the best friend. If you didn’t have an affair with Kara then what did you do to send poor little Lena off into the deep end?”

She glanced at her before turning away. The silence stretched on so long that Andrea was about to give up on it altogether.

“I did betray her,” Kara admitted, barely above a whisper. “I regret it so much.”

Andrea hummed and nodded. “Been there.”

“She’s never going to forgive me, is she?”

“I don’t know what you did, but in my experience, likely not.”

Kara slid to the floor again. A picture of defeat.

“She was in love with you,” Andrea said, gazing at her curiously. “Did you at least know that much?”

“It wasn’t like—“

She scoffed, cutting Kara off. “Either you’re lying to me or you’re lying to us both.”

She blew out a breath and rubbed her forehead. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because I fell in love with her when we were 15. I know all the signs. We had quite a few stops and starts, but it never really fell into place. She loved me, but it wasn’t anything close to what I felt for her. I was always gutted by that, but even then, I still ended up being the one who broke her heart. Poor Lena. She just can’t win, can she? Everyone who loves her is doomed to betray her somehow. She probably thinks she’s cursed. The one person in the world who should never have to feel pain...and it’s all she gets.”

“You sound like you still love her.”

“I do. Always will. But take it from me, Supergirl, there’s no way back. Not with Lena.”

“I just...I can’t let myself believe that. There has to be a way.”

“Then you’ll die trying and she won’t thank you for it.”

Kara eyed her for a long moment.

“What did you do to betray her?”

Andrea gave her a rueful smirk.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

Kara was silent.

“Thought so.” She got to her feet and stretched. “Think your friends are going to break us out anytime soon or do I have time for a nap? Don’t want to die or be rescued with bags under my eyes.”

#supergirl #supercorp #supercorp fanfic #kara danvers #andrea rojas #lena luthor #this doesnt count as rojascorp #or maybe it does?#i dont know #dont mind me

66 notes · View notes

cognacdelights · 4 years

Text

Teenage Dirtbags | 002. — A Right Hook A Day

Summary: In which, an out of control teenager is sentenced to a summer in the Outer Banks to come to come to terms with her mother’s untimely death, and reform her rebellious, troublesome ways before she does irreversible damage.

Authot’s Note: Sooo this is the second chapter of the “Teenage Dirtbags” series and it’s one of my favourite things that I’ve ever written. Marnie was my original child (before Indie - although Indie is lowkey my favourite), and there is so much of myself in her so I hope you love her as much as I do. As always, masterlists will be linked below and feel free to message me, pop an ask in my ask box or reply to this if you would like to be added to the taglist.

Warnings: This series may contain mature themes/content throughout including but not limited to swearing, sexual language and/or scenes, substance abuse and mentions of death.

Word Count: 3367.

Teenage Dirtbags Series Masterlist.

Fill The Void General Masterlist.

This gif is not mine, all credit goes to the owner.

002. — A Right Hook A Day

There were several trivial pleasures in life that Marnie Sinclaire just couldn't resist; cherry pie, boys and a party. There was just something about the unmistakable, alluring aroma of cheap beer, teenage lust and bad decisions that really got her endorphins flowing. Parties were her safe space - her haven; they were the one place on Earth that Marnie could do just about whatever she wanted, whatever numbed the hollow, vacant ache that haunted her chest, and she never had to take even so much as a slither of the blame. She was devoid of all and absolute responsibility. If she was a tease, it was all down to the entrancing, provocative music they were playing. If she so happened to kiss somebody’s boyfriend, it was the infinite number of premium, export strength vodka shots that persuaded her to do it. If she found herself embroiled within a vicious cat-fight with the spiteful, pretentious girls from across the river - it was the obligatory capsules of molly, not her. It was never her. There was always some kind of justification that excused her reckless and wild behaviour, and that made her feel invincible for those sole, precious hours of anarchy.

So, when the audacious, unruly brunette found herself graciously clambering down the drain pipe of her grandparents' house, it was of no surprise to the girl. Despite her impassive, frigid reception of the boy with the devilish glint lurking within the amber speckles of his dark, mocha eyes, he had tempted her into joining them down at the boneyard. Although, admittedly, Marnie didn't need much convincing when it came to partaking in boozy social gatherings - and there was a minimal internal debate on whether she should test the waters with her grandparents so early in her sentence. Of course, in true Marnie Sinclaire fashion, she had opted to. After spinning them an improvised, fabricated exaggeration of how the eight and a half hour journey to the Outer Banks had utterly wiped her out, and proceeding to inform them of her plans to recuperate with an early night, she disappeared up the varnished, cedar wood staircase. Several outfit changes and a nonchalant application of peach-tinted lip gloss later, and she was descending from the perilous heights of her second story window.

By the time Marnie had reached the section of beach that had affectionately been nicknamed the boneyard, the ruthless, Mid-Atlantic sun had retreated behind the distant horizon. A captivating concoction of magenta hues and coral tinges had painted themselves across the Outer Banks skyline in a vibrant, bewitching haze, and the previously unbearable humidity had dissipated into a comfortably tepid draught. It had still been relatively light when she had committed her great escape - however she was unfamiliar with the intricate island pathways and had to rely merely on the tinny echoes of the teens' portable speaker to locate the unwinding get together. Marnie may have taken the scenic route, courtesy of her underdeveloped sense of direction, but she had eventually arrived.

All of half an hour had passed since the bright-eyed, fair-skinned beauty's arrival at the ocean-front gathering, yet she had found herself engulfed in a crowd of loafer-clad, polo-shirt-adorning country club boys. However, there was one mousy-haired, stiff-jawed boy in particular that Marnie had made a particular impression on; the playful, wicked glint that occupied her luminous, cerulean eyes had lured him in - but the acid-wash, denim shorts that desperately clung to the curvaceous contours of her slim-lined figure had ultimately seduced him. His large, gentle hand rested on the exposed skin of her upper thigh, as his soft, coaxing lips brushed ever so slightly against the delicate skin of her pierced earlobe, "you look incredible." A subtle waft of his Paco Rabanne aftershave filled her nostrils as his deep, raspy tone purred amorously into her ear. It was a scent which she knew oh too well, yet one that never really impressed her. It was more of a distasteful, indiscreet display of wealth rather than for the sake of actual hygiene purposes.

"Just incredible?" Marnie challenged with a low, flirtatious hum - mimicking his ardent tone. Her sprightly, indigo eyes nonchalantly fluttered closed the second his masterful, delicate lips connected with the nape of her neck. The fair-haired boy began to litter sloppy, yet lustfully tender, kisses along her rose-tinted skin - mumbling a barrage of incoherent compliments in the process. His placid, velvet-like fingertips reached the sensitive plains of her inner thigh, leisurely encroaching on the lightly frayed hem of her sleek, denim shorts. The obviously well-off boy was very much aware that he was pushing his luck with the entrancing Brooklyn native, nevertheless he continued on with his pursuit into the uncharted territory - aiming to be the first in the race to place down his metaphorical flag and claim the terrain as his own in a bid for self validation.

"You are a fucking goddess," his fervid, lustful words vibrated against her freckled, alabaster complexion - his voice thick and gravelly - as her wandering mind fixated on the intense, rhythmic pulsing radiating from the nearby speaker. Marnie responded subconsciously by arching her back, as the heat of his whiskey-laced breath tantalised her most sensitive of nerves. "There's so many things that I want to do to you, princess" he proceeded to purr hankeringly, "so many positions that I want to take you in, so many places that I want to make you cum." She could feel the intrepid warmth of his dauntless fingertips intruding beneath the hemline of her shorts, a mere millimetres reach from the champagne, flower-patterned lace of her g-string.

"Slow down, Usain Bolt. This is a marathon, not a sprint," Marnie teased - her voice laced frivolously with her signature, provocative tenor. Her dainty lavender-painted fingertips coiled themselves around his wrist, guiding his meandering, clammy palms from beneath the frazzled hemline of her figure-hugging shorts. Casually, she turned her head to peer upwards at the upper-class boy, her beryl orbs occupying a sprightly glimmer as the corners of her glazed lips curled upwards into an innocent smile. "How about I get us some drinks?"

Removing herself from the confinements of his sordid, sun-burnt grasp, Marnie left the boy little time to object, beginning her leisurely stroll along the picturesque tidelands. The coarse silt particles beneath her off-white, worn-in Converse was uneven - and shifted unpredictably in every which direction under the light pressure of her footsteps. As someone accustomed to the static tarmac of Brooklyn's infamous streets, the doe-eyed brunette found the malleable surface difficult to navigate. It was yet another minute detail on an ever-growing list of contradictions to the world she was so fondly acquainted with, and desired to be reunited with.

Only a few, short minutes had passed before the troublesome vixen had - quite literally - stumbled upon the queue of drunken partygoers leading up to the beer keg, the ivory sand loosening beneath her cautious footsteps. The oddly alluring fragrance of cheap, low percentage beer forcefully invaded her airways, giving Marnie the unrivalled feeling of home; she relished in the one, trivial comfort she had managed to locate on the insufferable, out-of-touch island as she waited patiently for the line to diminish. There were several boys in the queue before her; all three of them drastically exceeding six foot, bare-chested and their tanned complexions adorning flattering splatters of salt water droplets that reflected celestially under the fire-lit lanterns.

As she eventually reached the front of the queue, Marnie was greeted by a much anticipated familiar face. The same golden-skinned boy who had delivered groceries to her grandparents' house stood before her - his large palm swaddling the beer tap, as his brawny, athletic figure guarded the half-empty keg. A haughty, complacent smirk etched itself into his defined features; after his earlier, sullen encounter with the pale-skinned virago, he was taken aback by her presence - but not disappointed. "Well, well, we-"

"Payment is required upfront," the brash, blonde-haired boy beside John B drowned out his mocking tone with his bold, cocksure words. A dauntless grin had proudly painted itself across his sun-kissed complexion, as his piercing, cobalt eyes glanced downwards at the petite, cinnamon-haired girl - appreciating all the fine, minute details of her being. Her skin, although pale, exhibited a naturally healthy and radiant glow, as the pinnacles of her prominent cheek bones displayed faint speckles of freckles. Her satin, blush-coloured lips were full and plump, and shaped perfectly by her pronounced cupid's bow. Marnie had an effortless kind of beauty to her - as even without her usual, heavy cosmetic aesthetic, she still attracted and secured the attention of the foreign, North Carolina boys.

"Payment?" she challenged the boy, arching her natural, dark eyebrows out of pure contest. His brazen demand for something in exchange for a mere half-filled cup of lukewarm, lingering on out of date beer was more than absurd to her. However, Marnie had to continually remind herself that these were North Carolina boys that she was dealing with; they were a whole different breed to the ones she had grown up with on the crime-ridden streets of Brooklyn. Perhaps, parties were simply not for the sake of sweet, teenage rebellion in these sandy plains, maybe they were an organised, profitable event and the boy with the wavy, mahogany locks had simply neglected to inform her of that fact. Her intense, perplexed gaze landed upon John B, who simply shrugged his broad shoulders in a casual display of confusion - neither confirming, nor denying, her theory.

"A kiss for a cup," the shaggy-haired blonde flirtatiously informed her, his sculpted, burly arms folding across his chest in his infamous, nonchalantly cavalier manner. The temptation to roll her sapphire eyes at his arrogant, pompous demeanour was more than abundant; the boy was not a budding, young entrepreneur offsetting his business enterprise early in life, he was merely an arrogant, over-confident teenage boy whose life direction revolved solely around the erratic, hormonal urges of his penis. "Sorry, babe, it's the island rules."

The over-whelming glint of mischief laced itself within the deep, sapphire flecks of Marnie's eyes, as she peered upwards through her thick, voluminous lashes, "just one kiss, hmm?" Her tone was playful, yet aloof, as she leisurely twirled the kinked ends of her cascading, chestnut wisps around the tip of her finger. An ever so slight, angelic pout graced her inviting, peach-toned lips as her head cocked innocently to the side, awaiting confirmation from the still nameless boy with the tousled, dirty blonde hair. He nodded his head assuredly - a slither of him astounded that his crass, amorous advances hadn't been met with pure, resentful outrage, as those he had previously accosted had reacted with.

Marnie took a small, confident step closer to John B. Her delicate, gentle palms placed either side of his elegantly sculpted cheeks, holding him in place, as the battered heels of her dirt-covered Converse rose up from the coarse particles beneath her. As the whimsical girl angled her makeup-less face upwards - her luscious, gloss-coated lips brushed against John B's. She was almost instantaneously met with the all too familiar taste of Keystone Light; the combined malt and bitter tang had temporarily stained his soft, welcoming lips. His large, paw-like hand held her at the nape of her neck - his touch light and placid - as he eased into the impassioned synchronisation. A low, lascivious grunt caught in the depths of his throat as her front, pearly teeth sank tauntingly into the swollen flesh of his bottom lip, lightly nibbling the delicate skin. She proceeded to drag her teasing, salacious tongue along the length of his lip, tenderly caressing the light indents. His gentle lips parted in submission, allowing her tormenting tongue to entangle itself with his own in an abruptly ardent embrace.

"Who's rolling out the welcome wagon now?" John B's low, husky voice chuckled as his lips retreated cautiously from Marnie's. Releasing the petite, bodacious brunette from his gentle hold, a smug, haughty smirk upturned the corners of his beer-laced, gloss-stained lips. His dark, untamed eyebrows raised in an arrogantly, quizzical manner as he waited patiently upon a response from the loud-mouthed, quick-witted girl before him.

"Still you, John B," Marnie quipped back instantly - complacent smirk etching itself into the doll-like features of her freckled complexion, "you've thrown me a welcome party and everything. You've really outdone yourself as well, although I would reconsider on who you hire for service - it seems as though he likes to take advantage of the guest of honour."

"You're trouble, you, aren't you?" the dark-haired boy anticipated with an amused chortle, pulling a singular red cup from the crumpled, plastic packaging laying atop the ivory sand. As if it came as second nature to him, John B applied the slightest touch of pressure to the keg tap, filling the cliché party cup with the golden, bitter beverage. The stream of beer flowed at a steady pace, hitting the side of the cup at an approximately forty five degree angle - to leave as little head as possible on the bordering stale lager.

"I resent the word trouble." Marnie took the disposable cup from the olive-skinned boy, his robust, athletic figure towering above her petite frame. Taking a generous sip of the cheap, college-grade beer, her doe-like, cerulean eyes peered atop the plastic rim. "You've got a little lip gloss on your mouth," she stated, the minor echoes of a giggle evident in the inflections of her lighthearted tone. Casually, she reached her dainty hand upwards, gently wiping away the remnants of her bubblegum-tinted gloss with a tender slide of her thumb.

"What, it didn't suit me?" John B countered banteringly - his bushy, untamed eyebrows raising upwards in an impudently brazen manner. His admirably chiselled arms crossed over his almost-bare, toned chest, shielding his loosely buttoned, pattern-printed shirt from flapping in the mild breeze. As the early-summer night had progressed, the once unbearable temperature had began to decrease significantly, and the occasional gust of wind had picked up into a steady, comfortable flurry.

"Nah, wasn't your colour," she divulged teasingly, taking another lavish gulp of her somewhat refreshing, alcoholic beverage, "it didn't complement your eyes and it definitely clashed with that hideous shirt you're wearing." Perhaps her caustically facetious words were a sliver too brazen for just their second interaction, although the thoroughly entertained grin which danced across his sun-soaked features indicated that John B hadn't taken her playful words to heart.

"Come on now, trouble, I can pull off any col-"

"What do you think you're doing macking on my girl, Routledge?" the roaring, irate voice of notorious posh boy, Rafe Cameron, crudely interrupted the boy mid sentence; it had become somewhat of a recurring theme throughout the evening. The older, less-athletically built boy proceeded to wade his way through the gathering of parched party-goers - his accompanying posse of fellow mindless, well-off minions following in close proximity behind. His work-shy hands were balled into tight, heavy fists, clenched in anticipation of the brawl that he inevitably expected to result from their heated exchange.

"Your girl?" the blonde-haired boy, adorning the discoloured muscle tee, antagonised the situation - his derisive words and coarse, mocking tone only provoking the enraged Cameron boy further, "didn't look like she was your girl when she was all up on my boy, John B just now."

"Was he talking to you, trailer trash?" one of Rafe's carbon-copy puppets hollered from the safety of several feet away. The shorter, feistier blonde stepped forward, his jaw clenched and his already-bruised fists clamped in preparation of the imminent altercation. Aware of his friend's lengthy, complicated history with the law, John B outstretched the palm of his large hand - serving as a makeshift barrier between the two cockfighting blondes, and silently urging his already probation-sentenced friend to fall back. This seemed to appease the short-statured boy for now as he retreated back a few reluctant steps, loosening his jaw.

"So what if I was macking on your girl, what are you going to do about it?" John B confronted the furious Figure Eight toff, taunting him further with his jesting, sarcasm-laced tone as he advanced forward, "are you going to throw daddy's money at me, like you do with all your other problems?" The umber-eyed boy with the dark, wayward waves had struck a nerve with Rafe Cameron; the snide, sneering words hurled towards him had rattled the trust-funded socialite - his scrawny, lacklustre body brimming with unprecedented rage. Acting on pure, neanderthal instinct, he swung his clenched fist towards John B, his garish, white knuckles grazing against the tanned highs of his cheek bone. John B stumbled backwards as the force of Rafe's tensed, curled-up fist connected with his face.

"Woah, back off, Donald Trump Jr," Marnie brazenly injected herself into the brawl; she shoved Rafe with as much strength and capability that her dainty, diminutive figure could muster, aiming to put as much distance between the two scuffling boys as possible. Her venomous tongue spat it's infamous poison in disapproval of the affluent blonde and his barbaric actions - utter disgust conspicuous within her harsh, reprimanding voice. She stared upwards at him, her unsympathetic, indigo eyes burning into his roseate features as she awaited his next move with hitched and bated breath.

"Stay out of this, bitch," Rafe hissed at the capricious brunette, lacking any fragments of hesitation as he returned the shove - only harder. The disposable, plastic cup that Marnie had remained in possession of crumpled under the sheer force of the repugnant Cameron boy's vigor, carelessly spilling it's alcoholic contents over her cropped, cream top. Although it was uncomfortable and tacky against her fair skin, her beer-doused garments were not the primary source of her superlative fury; Marnie Sinclaire absolutely despised, detested and resented the word bitch - especially when used as a derogatory slander to defame a woman. In Marnie's eyes, it was the most degrading slur of them all, and nothing boiled her blood quite like it.

In retaliation to his vulgar turn of phrase, the infuriated Brooklyn-born vixen found herself unconsciously launching her contracted fist at Rafe - knocking him backwards as her dainty knuckles connected with his crooked, concave nose, "who's the bitch now, bitch?" Her sour, sardonic words rang through his ears like the blaring chimes of the island's church bell, as his flaring temper toppled over at the brim. Raising his clenched fist once again, he directed his rage-filled, balled-up hand towards Marnie.

"I don't think so, man," the shorter, blonde-haired boy who had previously accosted the dark-haired girl, grabbed onto the ironed collar of Rafe's Ralph Lauren polo shirt before he could lay a hand on her. He negligently yanked the obnoxiously hostile Cameron boy from Marnie's vicinity, proceeding to thrust his gaunt, bony carcass towards the two witless clones that swarmed around the abhorrent boy. A bitter, hateful glare contorted his fair features as he remained on guard, willing and ready to pounce on the occasion that round two would commence with the feisty, short-statured boy adorning the beer-stained muscle tee.

"This isn't over, Routledge, Maybank," Rafe Cameron spat viciously, addressing the two South side boys directly - before wiping the meandering trail of blood leaking from his quickly bruising nose. Accepting his defeat for the moment, the embarrassed boy retreated back to the safety of the Figure Eight neighbourhood to tend to both his physical and metaphorical wounds, his agitated grumbles growing quieter as he disappeared into the unkempt foliage.

"Can someone get me some ice?" the lager-soaked brunette requested, a tinge of concern unmistakable in her distressed voice. Her luminous, cobalt orbs glanced towards the quick-tempered blonde and the anxious, dark-skinned boy who had appeared beside him now that the looming threat of violence had subdued - hoping one or the other would make an offer.

"I'll be fine," John B dismissed her with a simple, lackadaisical wave of his hand, "Rafe can't throw punches for shit."

"No, you moron, not for your face, for my hand. That fucking hurt."

Taglist: @drewsephsmiles @spilledtee @bellaguarneri @outrbanks @ilovejjmaybank @milamaybank @jjtheangel @shawnssongs @jayjaymaebank @jjouterbanks @ptersparkers @jjcultmain @summerintheobx @captainpogue @rudyypankow @rudypankow-whore @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @anonymous0writer @danandphilfan6

64 notes · View notes